THE  BUGLES  OF  GETTYSBURG 


11  Listen!  Again  the  shrill-lipped  bugles  blow" 

THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH 

( Sonnet  "  Gettysburg  ") 

"All  these  the  echoing  bugle  brings  again" 

FRANCIS  F.  BROWNE 

(Sonnet  "Bugle  Echoes"} 


L 


EADING    his    men  into   the  flames  of   battle  with  a 
chivalrous  lightness  and  grace."  [Page  120} 


THE    BUGLES    OF 
GETTYSBURG 


BY 

LASALLE  CORBELL  PICKETT 

(MRS.  GENERAL  GEORGE  E.  PICKETT) 


AUTHOR    OF        PICKETT    AND    HIS    MEN 


LITERARY 


HEARTHSTONES    OF    DIXIE,       "IN    DE    MIZ    SERIES,       ETC. 


CHICAGO 
F.  G.   BROWNE   &  CO. 

1913 


COPYRIGHT,     1913 
Y     F.     G.     BROWNE     &     CO. 


Copyright  in  England 
All  rights  reserved 


,PIJBLISHED,  .M 


THE- PLIMPTON 'PRESS 
NORWOOD-MASS-U'8'A 


AS    I    SIT    ALONE    IN    THE    TWILIGHT    SHADOWS    THE    VISIONS    OF 
THE    MORNING    COME    BACK    TO    ME    RADIANT     WITH     FAITH 
AND  HOPE  AND  LOVE,  EVEN  THOUGH  DARKENED  SOME 
TIMES    BY    CLOUDS    OF  WAR.       FROM  THE    MEMORY- 
FABRIC    MADE    OF  ALL  THOSE  GOLDEN  DREAMS 
THAT  CENTER  AROUND  MY  FIRST  SOLDIER 
I  TAKE  THE  THREADS  TO  WEAVE  THIS 
LITTLE     STORY    OF    OLDEN    DAYS, 
LOVINGLY    DEDICATED   TO 
HIS  NAMESAKE  SON, 

MAJOR  GEORGE  E.   PICKETT,  U.  S.  ARMY 

MY    LAST 
SOLDIER,    WHOSE 
LIFE      LINKED     THOSE 
VIVID     DAYS    WITH    THE    PRES 
ENT,    AND    WHO     CAME     HOME    ACROSS 
THE      SEA       FROM       THE        FAR-OFF       PHILIP 
PINES      WITH      EYES     CLOSED     TO      EARTH     TO     BE 
FOREVER     OPENED     TO     THE      LIGHT      OF      ETERNAL      DAY 


MI2000 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PROLOGUE:    ASHES  OF  GLORY u 

CHAPTER 

I.     SOLDIERS  OF  VIRGINIA 18 

II.     THE  VOYAGERS 27 

III.  SAILORS'  REST 37 

IV.  CATHERINE 47 

V.     INTO  THE  HEART  OF  THE  STORM 53 

VI.     THE  AMBER  PATH 61 

VII.     UNCLE  ZEKE 68 

VIII.     THE  LIGHTS  OF  BRIGHTVIEW 80 

IX.     ON  WITH  THE  DANCE 90 

X.    FROM  THE  FRONT 100 

XI.    WAITING 106 

XII.     "THE  BATTLE'S  VAN" 116 

XIII.  A  SHIELD  OF  FAITH 132 

XIV.  How  THE  NEWS  CAME  HOME 141 

XV.    THE  RETURN  TO  BRIGHTVIEW 151 


THE  BUGLES  OF  GETTYSBURG 


July  1-3, 


The  Bugles 
of  Getty sburg 


PROLOGUE 

ASHES  OF  GLORY 

HALF  a  century  has  passed  since  the 
Bugles  of  Gettysburg  first  echoed  from 
height  to  height,  over  hill  and  valley,  the 
thunder  of  the  red  artillery,  the  rush  of  the 
charging  cavalry,  the  tread  of  the  advancing 
infantry,  reverberating  with  unremitting  roll  of 
musketry  over  the  field  furrowed  and  torn  by 
shot  and  shell,  watered  and  stained  by  the 
life-blood  of  friend  and  foe  alike. 

Today  the  bugles  of  Gettysburg  are  heard 
again,  not  by  armed  men  with  surging  pas 
sions,  putting  a  question  of  empire  to  the  arbit 
rament  of  the  sword,  but  a  quiet  throng  with 
the  gentlest  phases  of  their  nature  awakened 
to  sad  and  awesome  memories  of  those  battle 
[n] 


Tk:4-  BUGLE'S    OF    GETTYSBURG 

days  in  which  a  Nation  was  saved  and  a  Na 
tion  was  lost. 

Three  persons  are  standing  in  the  valley 
looking  in  awed  silence  at  Seminary  Ridge  and 
across  the  sunlit  space  to  the  range  opposite, 
as  if  the  long  ranks  of  men  who  passed  over 
that  ground  fifty  years  ago  were  before  their 
eyes  and  they  heard  the  crash  of  the  guns  that 
made  deadly  gaps  in  the  line. 

One  of  them  is  an  old  man,  white-haired  and 
stooped,  with  a  step  that  has  lost  its  youthful 
alertness.  He  is  in  the  darkening  shadows  of 
life's  dimming  twilight  and  yet  as  he  wanders 
over  the  historic  field  the  bugles  of  the  past 
echo  in  his  heart  and  his  pulses  bound  again 
with  the  fervor  of  youth.  The  winds  of  battle 
sweep  around  him  as  he  follows  the  flag  up  that 
flame-crested  height  to  the  mouth  of  the  blaz 
ing  guns. 

Beside  him  is  a  gentle-faced  woman  with  a 
wealth  of  gray  hair  in  soft  waves  around  her 
face,  and  dark  eyes  that  hold  sad  memories  of 
one  who  lost  his  life  there.  Her  gaze  is  lifted 
above  the  old  line  of  march,  seeking  visions 
beyond  the  mountains.  An  officer  in  the  blue 
uniform  of  the  United  States  Army  looks  down 
at  her  with  filial  love. 

[12] 


ASHES    OF    GLORY 

"I  was  thinking,  my  son,  of  him  whose  name 
you  bear,  my  Cousin  Garnett,"  she  said  in  a 
tone  that  dwelt  lingeringly  upon  the  name  she 
loved.  The  Colonel  pressed  her  hand  tenderly. 
He  was  one  of  the  first  to  answer  President 
McKinley's  call  for  volunteers.  Side  by  side 
with  his  father  who,  Confederate  veteran  as 
he  was,  had  volunteered  with  him  and  donned 
the  Federal  blue  at  his  country's  need,  he 
served  through  the  Spanish  War,  and  was 
commissioned  in  the  regular  army.  Now  he 
heard  wonderingly  the  echo  of  the  bugle  notes 
of  those  olden  days  and  looked  hopefully  into 
the  future,  dreaming  that  it  might  hold  for 
him  the  glory,  even  though  it  threw  over  him 
the  gloom,  of  those  fame-crowned  hills. 

Reminiscences  of  the  day  that  seemed  to 
belong  to  a  lost  age  came  surging  back  to  the 
older  man. 

"Here,  Garnett,  my  son,  is  where  we  marched 
through  the  fires  of  destruction  up,  —  yes,  up 
to  the  very  gates  of  hell.  It  was  terrible  — 
terrible  —  'magnificent,  but  not  war'  —  no, 


not  war  —  not  war." 


The  woman  clung  shudderingly  to  his  arm 
and  looked  up  into  his  face,  whispering,  "And 
where  —  where  —  ? " 


THE    BUGLES    OF     GETTYSBURG 

"Over  there,  I  think,  my  dear,  over  there," 
he  replied  in  a  tone  dropped  low  in  tender 
ness,  gazing  toward  the  outer  edge  of  the  field. 
"Yes,  somewhere  over  there,  my  son,  is  the 
grave  of  my  comrade  to  whom  I  owe  life  and 
you  and  all  that  is  good/' 

"How  much  the  old  heartsome  word,  com 
rade,  means,  Aylett,  as  you  say  it  today!" 
murmured  the  woman. 

The  younger  man  stood  silent,  looking  ques- 
tioningly  at  them  both  and  then  across  the 
field,  marveling  over  the  vision  his  father  called 
up  of  half  a  century  gone. 

"Yes,  my  son,  the  God  of  Battles,  who  holds 
the  universe  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  knew 
that  the  safety  of  the  Union  was  the  safety 
of  the  States,  and  He  willed  that  they  should 
be  brought  back,  each  for  each." 

The  echoes  of  the  bugles  of  Gettysburg  will 
forever  carry  around  the  world  the  fame  of 
Lee  and  of  Meade,  of  Longstreet  and  Pickett 
and  Hancock,  Hill,  Pettigrew,  Birney,  Slocum, 
Kemper,  and  Trimble.  They  tell  us  anew  of 
the  daring  deeds  of  the  Philadelphia  Brigade. 
They  sound  "taps"  over  the  unknown  grave  of 
Garnett  sleeping  where  he  fell.  They  sound  a 
paean  for  Fauquier's  son,  Armistead,  and  echo 


ASHES    OF    GLORY 

his  last  words  as,  with  cap  on  sword,  he  led  his 
brigade  up  to  the  Federal  guns,  calling  out: 

"Remember,  boys,  remember!  Follow  me! 
Strike  for  your  homes,  your  wives  and  your 
sweethearts!  Come,  follow  me!" 

They  thrill  with  memories  of  the  brave  men 
of  his  brigade,  of  his  Colonels,  Hodges,  Magru- 
der,  Edwards,  Griggs,  all  of  whom  were  killed, 
and  of  his  Lieutenant-Colonels,  Phillips,  White, 
Aylett,  all  wounded;  of  Colonel  Charles  Pey 
ton,  the  leader  of  the  Game-Cock  Regiment, 
going  into  battle  with  the  one  arm  left  to 
him  from  an  early  battle;  of  Williams,  Mayo, 
Patton,  and  Otey. 

Yes,  the  bugles  will  ever  tell  of  Dearing  and 
Caskie,  of  Clopton  and  Cushing  and  Stribling 
and  Cowan,  and  the  many  who  bore  well  their 
part  here  in  those  fiery  days,  to  meet  no  more 
till  they  had  passed  into  the  Mystic  Land. 

With  those  names  that  are  emblazoned  upon 
the  page  of  history  go  the  spirit  and  the  force 
and  the  courage  of  the  thousands  of  nameless 
heroes  who  reached  the  last  great  height  of 
sacrifice  and  left  the  memory  of  the  private 
soldier  as  a  priceless  legacy  to  their  country. 

The  bugles  of  Gettysburg  bear  a  message  of 
peace  today  —  the  peace  which  the  battle  fore- 
' 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

shadowed  and  to  which  it  led.  A  soft  sweet 
echo  of  those  bugle-notes  has  swept  over  the 
old  battle-field  and  thrilled  the  hearts  of  one 
time  foes  who  have  become  friends.  It  has 
been  the  accompaniment  of  the  grandest  melody 
ever  sung,  the  harmony  of  friendship  and  love 
into  which  the  years  have  merged  the  mourn 
ful  sounds  of  that  field  of  darkness  and  blood. 

The  bugles  have  echoed  in  sweetest  tones  over 
hands  that  are  clasped  across  a  sea  of  tears, 
all  the  more  warmly  because  of  the  distance 
and  the  darkness  over  which  they  have  met. 

They  played  softly  around  the  scene  when 
the  sword  of  an  unknown  hero  who  fell  on  the 
slope  of  Cemetery  Ridge  was  returned  upon 
that  field  by  Colonel  Cowan  of  Cushing's  Bat 
tery,  who  had  kept  it  through  many  years 
vainly  seeking  some  one  with  title  to  receive 
that  sacred  weapon  dropped  from  the  brave 
hand  that  bore  it  with  honor  unto  death. 

They  rang  out  in  thrilling  music  when  the 
sword  of  Armistead  was  returned  to  Pickett's 
men  beside  the  scroll  which  marks  the  spot 
where  it  fell  from  the  hand  that  had  borne  it 
through  fire  and  blood  to  the  remotest  limit  of 
the  high  tide  at  Gettysburg,  and  which  fell 
nerveless  when  that  tide  receded. 
[16] 


ASHES    OF    GLORY 

Above  the  plain,  over  the  range  of  hills  and 
around  the  desolate  peaks  of  the  Round  Tops 
that  keep  solemn  guard  over  the  ground  on 
which  the  greatest  chapter  of  our  history  was 
written,  the  echoes  of  the  bugles  of  Gettysburg 
yet  thrill  with  quivering  memories  of  the  days 
that  consecrated  those  hills  to  immortality. 

And  to  the  three  who  stand  there  together, 
hand  clasped  in  hand,  eyes  dimmed  with  tears, 
this  is  the  story  the  bugles  tell. 


CHAPTER  I 

SOLDIERS    OF  VIRGINIA 

"^T^HE    latest   news    is    that   Virginia    has 

JL     seceded." 

"Yes.  I  wonder  what  the  Captain  will 
do." 

The  young  Lieutenant  sitting  just  within 
the  door  raised  his  head  as  the  speakers  passed. 
The  lines  of  his  mouth  drew  tense  and  his 
brown  eyes  deepened  almost  to  black. 

"Whatever  the  Captain  may  do,  there  is 
only  one  thing  the  Lieutenant  can  do,"  he 
said  to  himself  grimly;  "only  one  thing,  and 
it  is  like  letting  out  the  heart's  blood  to  do  it." 

The  one  thing  that  the  Lieutenant  could  do 
must  be  done  at  once.  The  first  mail  east 
must  carry  his  resignation  to  the  War  Depart 
ment.  But  at  what  cost,  at  what  terrific 
cost! 

He  sat  long  in  the  dusk,  gazing  out  upon  the 
flag  floating  proudly  from  its  staff.  The  wav 
ing  of  its  red,  white,  and  blue  folds  thrilled 
him  as  in  the  olden  times.  He  could  not  recall 
[18] 


SOLDIERS    OF    VIRGINIA 

a  day  when  that  banner  had  not  been  to  him 
a  sacred  thing.  There  came  memories  of  boy 
hood  days  in  his  home  city  when  he  watched 
it  fluttering  in  the  wind,  borne  at  the  head 
of  a  long  line  of  veterans  of  1812,  celebrating 
the  triumphs  they  had  won  in  their  hot-blooded 
youth.  He  remembered  the  ambition  that 
filled  his  heart  as  he  thought  that  some  day  he 
too  would  be  one  of  a  long  blue  line  to  celebrate 
hard-won  battles. 

The  old  time  at  West  Point,  its  hardships 
and  ambitions,  its  work  and  fun,  its  boyish 
dreams;  they  all  came  back  now  that  the  old 
life  was  done. 

And  over  them  all  the  old  flag  had  waved. 

Before  his  heart's  vision  waved  another  flag, 
deep  blue,  bearing  the  legend  "Sic  Semper 
Tyrannis,"  the  motto  of  Virginia,  Mother  of 
States,  Mother  of  Presidents,  and,  nearer  and 
dearer  to  him,  Mother  of  his  home  and  of  all 
most  loved  by  him. 

Over  mountain  and  plain,  across  desert  and 
forest,  came  that  loved  and  loving  voice: 
"Come  back  to  Virginia.  Come  home!  Come 
home!" 

"Come  back  to  Virginia."  He  would  answer 
the  call  through  all  the  long  and  weary  miles 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

that  lay  between  the  Pacific  Coast  and  the  dear 
old  State  that  called  him.  What  would  she 
think  —  Catherine  Marshall,  his  promised  wife? 
Surely  she  would  know  that  it  had  taken 
the  news  long  to  reach  him.  Surely  she  must 
realize  that  the  return  home  would  require 
many  weeks.  Yet,  she  might  wait  and  wonder 
and  marvel  over  his  delay  when  Virginia 
called  him.  Would  she  doubt? 

And  the  Captain,  his  beloved  Captain? 

Elbows  on  knees,  he  sunk  his  head  in  his 
hands.  How  could  he  meet  the  reproach  which 
would  look  out  of  those  tiger-gray  eyes  when 
he  announced  his  determination  to  resign  from 
the  service  under  the  flag  they  had  both  loved 
so  well?  And  suppose  it  were  more  than  re 
proach?  Suppose  his  superior  officer,  unswerv 
ing  in  his  devotion  to  duty,  should  consider 
him  a  traitor  —  should  forbid  his  leaving  the 
post  —  should  place  him  under  arrest! 

He  rose  stiffly,  with  white  lips  and  set  jaw. 
He  would  go  at  once,  before  his  courage  failed. 

He  found  Captain  Pickett  arrayed  for  a 
dinner  at  Governor  Tilton's,  a  handsome  figure 
in  his  full-dress  uniform,  erect  as  a  young 
pine,  alert  as  a  panther.  His  tiger-like  eyes, 
gray,  with  glints  of  blue  in  sunny  moods,  glit- 

[20] 


SOLDIERS    OF    VIRGINIA 

tering  like  steel  when  he  led  his  men  to  battle, 
darkening  in  moments  of  deep  emotion,  now 
flashed  out  skyey  tints  as  he  smiled  a  welcome. 

"Perhaps,  Captain,  you  may  guess  the  er 
rand  on  which  I  have  come.  You  have,  of 
course,  heard  the  news  of  Virginia  ?" 

"That  she  has  seceded?     Yes." 

He  spoke  in  the  low  tone  that  had  been 
called  "a  velvet  casing  around  a  charge  of 
dynamite." 

There  was  a  pause.  Jasper  Carrington 
shifted  his  hat  uneasily,  painfully  conscious 
that  he  was  behaving  like  a  schoolboy.  He 
nerved  himself  to  the  effort. 

"It  was  momentous  news  to  me,"  he  said. 
"I  have  been  battling  with  myself  for  hours." 

He  paused  again.  Perhaps  the  Captain 
would  say  something,  would  ask  a  question. 
But  the  Captain  was  waiting,  with  official  cour 
tesy,  for  the  younger  man  to  tell  his  story. 

"I  —  I  have  loved  the  flag,  the  Union,  so 
well."  Jasper's  voice  was  not  quite  steady. 
"  I  had  thought  that  they  would  always  be  as 
dear,  even  dearer,  as  the  years  went  by.  .  .  . 
And  now,  this  comes,  and  changes  things  so.  . 
.  .  I  seem  to  love  my  country  as  much,  or 
more — God  only  knows  how  it  hurts  to  have  to 

[21  I 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

choose;  but  Virginia,  the  State  that  gave  me 
birth,  and  my  father  and  grandfather  before 
me  —  she  needs  me,  she  calls  me  - 

He  took  a  step  forward  as  if  he  saw  a  vision. 
His  voice  broke  and  sank  almost  to  a  whisper. 

"She  calls   me  —  and  —  I  cannot  choose  - 
but  —  go." 

He  stepped  back  and  steadied  himself  against 
a  chair. 

"Forgive  me,  Captain."  He  bowed.  "I 
beg  your  pardon." 

"Be  seated,  Lieutenant." 

There  was  no  change  in  the  level  tone,  but 
the  Captain's  face  was  white. 

"Be  seated,  please."  And  after  a  moment, 
"Have  you  anything  further  to  say?" 

"Only  this,  Captain  Pickett.  I  should  like 
to  add  that,  as  it  has  been  no  small  part  of  my 
happiness  in  the  Army  to  be  under  your  com 
mand,  so  the  leaving  of  that  command  is  no 
small  part  of  my  unhappiness  in  withdrawing 
from  the  Army.  I  have  been  proud,  very 
proud,  of  my  Captain.  I  am  sorry,  more 
than  sorry,  to  go." 

Again  he  bowed  with  military  formality. 

"And  now  I  must  not  detain  you  longer.  I 
should  not  have  come  at  such  an  hour." 

[22] 


SOLDIERS    OF   VIRGINIA 

He  awaited  permission  to  retire,  but  it  did 
not  come. 

"There  is  no  haste,  Lieutenant.  There  is 
still  time  before  dinner." 

The  Captain  spoke  absently,  and  toyed 
with  an  Indian  knife  lying  on  his  desk  for  use 
as  a  paper-cutter.  Then  he  rose  and  began  to 
pace  back  and  forth  in  the  restricted  space 
between  the  walls. 

"You  know,  of  course,  Lieutenant,  that  I 
also  am  a  Virginian?" 

"Yes,  Captain." 

"Did  you  suppose  —  did  you  think  that  I 
should  not  be  tempted?  That  it  would  be  no 
struggle  for  me  to  remain  with  the  flag  we 
have  served  together  so  long?" 

His  head  was  bent  and  Jasper  could  not 
see  his  face. 

"I  could  not  judge  for  any  but  myself,  Cap 
tain,"  he  said  at  length.  "In  other  cir 
cumstances  I  should  have  come  to  you  and 
consulted  you  and  been  guided  by  the  course 
you  took.  But  —  I  have  a  mother  and  sis 
ter  in  Virginia;  they  and  the  old  home  must 
be  guarded.  And  —  I  have  a  sweetheart. 
The  woman  who  is  to  be  my  wife  has  no 
brother  to  fight  for  her.  There  are  many 
[23] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

reasons  why  I  should  return  when  my  State 
calls  me." 

Captain  Pickett,  still  pacing  slowly  back  and 
forth,  hands  behind  him,  paused  before  the 
Lieutenant  and  raised  his  head. 

"Lieutenant  Carrington,"  he  said,  "I,  too, 
have  battled  with  myself,  have  felt  my  heart 
strings  strained  to  breaking  point  as  I  thought 
of  the  old  flag,  have  heard  Virginia  calling, 
calling."  He  put  his  two  hands  on  the  Lieu 
tenant's  shoulders.  "And  I,  too,  cannot 
choose  —  but  —  go." 

They  stood  thus,  gazing  into  one  another's 
eyes.  Then  Lieutenant  Carrington's  fell. 

"Bravo,  my  Captain!"  he  whispered. 

The  Captain  turned  slowly  to  his  desk  and 
laid  his  hands  heavily  on  a  large  official  en 
velope. 

"I  sealed  this  a  few  moments  before  you 
came,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone.  "It  contains 
my  resignation  from  the  United  States  Army. 
God  forgive  me,  but  it  must  be  so." 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  the  two  soldiers 
who  had  sacrificed  so  much  clasped  hands. 

"Now,"  said  the  Captain,  "we  are  no 
longer  officers  of  the  United  States  Army; 
we  are  soldiers  of  Virginia  with  no  formalities 

[24] 


SOLDIERS    OF    VIRGINIA 
of  rank  between   us,  one  in   devotion   to   her 


service." 


After  the  Lieutenant  had  gone  the  Captain 
stood  long  in  sad  meditation,  not  like  one  who 
hesitates,  but  as  a  man  who  takes  leave  of  all 
his  past  life. 

He  thought  of  the  man  who  had  first  made 
the  aspiration  of  his  youth  the  realization  of 
his  manhood.  A  heavy  sadness  came  with 
the  memory.  How  that  dear  old  friend  — 
now  the  head  of  the  Nation,  the  man  at  the 
wheel  of  the  Ship  of  State  —  would  grieve  when 
he  knew  that  at  the  parting  of  the  ways  his 
cadet  had  taken  the  opposite  road. 

He  recalled  his  first  experience  of  the  real 
ities  of  war  —  the  war  with  Mexico  which  had 
first  shaken  his  youthful  conviction  that  his 
country  could  not  even  by  a  hair's-breadth 
be  anything  but  right.  The  memory  of  those 
early  days  of  battle  returned  through  the 
years;  the  wearisome  march  over  sun-baked 
roads  under  tropical  skies,  the  rush  up  em 
battled  heights  to  flaming  summits. 

Then  came  the  campaigns  of  the  wind-swept 

plains;    the  sharp,  swift  conflict,  the  triumph, 

and    then  —  the    part    that    he    loved  —  the 

uplifting  of  the  conquered   to  a  higher  life,  a 

[25] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

knowledge  of  the  ways  of  peace,  of  something 
better  than  ghost  dances  and  the  slaying  of 
enemies.  Whatever  might  come  to  him  in 
after  life,  he  should  remember  with  joy  that 
he  had  brought  some  of  the  light  of  knowledge 
into  the  lives  of  the  children  of  the  plains. 

And  the  flag  waved  over  it  all!  Always  the 
flag!  Always  its  blue  sky  with  the  fixed  stars 
shining  down  and  its  red  and  white  folds  wav 
ing  in  the  breeze!  Always  the  flag,  beckoning, 
leading  on  to  victory.  Always  the  flag  —  the 
flag! 


[26] 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   VOYAGERS 

THE  winds  were  whirling  the  dust  of  San 
Francisco  into  the  face  of  a  man  who  had 
just  landed  from  a  south-bound  steamer  and 
was  walking  up  Clay  Street  from  the  rickety 
old  wharf.  His  hat  was  pulled  low  upon  his 
forehead,  his  gray  tiger-eyes  almost  hidden 
by  its  brim.  He  was  opposing  a  strong  front 
against  the  wind,  like  one  used  to  battle. 

So  absorbed  was  he  in  the  conflict  and  so 
blinded  by  the  dust  that  he  did  not  see  a  fellow- 
sufferer  coming  in  the  opposite  direction  until 
made  aware  of  him  by  a  sudden  impact  which 
thrust  them  both  into  the  friendly  shelter  of 
an  overarching  entrance,  where  they  looked 
at  each  other  breathlessly. 

"  Carrington ! "  cried  he  of  the  tiger-eyes. 
"Is  it  possible?  How  very  remarkable,  after 
missing  our  rendezvous." 

They  clasped  hands  in  a  way  that  signified 
not  only  old-time  friendship  but  a  new-born 

[27] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

tie  so  strong  that  it  needed  not  words  to  attest 
its  fidelity. 

"It  is  indeed  remarkable,  Captain.  I've 
been  wondering  how  on  earth  we  should  find 
each  other." 

"Yes.  I  wasn't  able  to  leave  the  post  five 
days  after  you  as  I  planned,  and  through  that 
I  missed  a  boat.  I've  only  just  got  in.  I 
was  going  to  hunt  for  you,  but  had  no  idea 
where  to  begin." 

The  wind  swept  around  the  corner  and 
scudded  off  with  the  Captain's  hat,  which  his 
companion  caught  and  restored  to  its  owner. 
Then  with  a  start  of  surprise  he  said: 

"It  is  you,  Captain,  all  right,  but  —  Nar 
cissus  without  his  tresses,  Apollo  without 
his  lute."  Laughingly  he  went  on,  "What 
on  earth  did  you  do  it  for?  How  did  it  hap 
pen?" 

"I  didn't  'do  it  for.'     It  was  an  accident." 

"An   accident?     You   don't   say  so." 

"Yes.  Just  before  I  left  the  post  I  went  into 
the  shop  to  have  my  hair  trimmed  as  usual, 
and  it  seems  the  barber  was  a  new  man.  He 
says  he  asked  me  about  it  and  I  said  yes,  or 
murmured  something  he  took  to  be  yes.  I  was, 
naturally,  very  much  absorbed  in  thought, 
[28! 


THE    VOYAGERS 

and  perhaps  I  did.  Anyway,  I  noticed  nothing 
till  my  locks  lay  on  the  floor.  But  I've  real 
ized  since  that  it  was  a  good  thing.  Perhaps 
it  wouldn't  be  safe  for  me  to  be  standing  talk 
ing  to  you  here,  otherwise." 

"I  suppose  not.  And  we  must  get  away  as 
soon  as  possible.  But  don't  worry,  Captain. 
Your  own  mother  wouldn't  recognize  you  when 
you're  not  speaking.  I  knew  your  voice,  but 
if  I  had  seen  you  before  you  spoke  I  never  in 
the  world  should  have  suspected  that  it  was 
you." 

"This  blustering  wind  has  its  compensations, 
then.  It  has  saved  us  our  search  for  one 
another.  But  you,  Carrington?" 

"Oh,  I'm  safe  enough.  As  you  see,  I'm 
roughing  it,  and  nobody  but  a  faithful  friend 
with  eyes  and  heart  like  yours  would  know 
me.  Come,  let's  go  over  to  Peter  Job's." 

"Peter  Job's?  That  sounds  rather  too  apos 
tolic  and  redundant  of  virtue  for  a  pair  of 
rough  soldiers." 

"It  is  appetizing  and  redundant  of  hospital 
ity,  at  any  rate,  and  we  can  get  a  spread  and  a 
bottle  of  good  Heidsieck,  and  lave  our  souls 
in  golden  memories  before  the  overshadowing 
events  become  too  heavy  to  be  forgotten." 

[29] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

Into  the  driving  wind  they  went  again, 
crossing  to  Washington  Street  and  passing  the 
Opera  House  to  Peter  Job's,  where  they  se 
cured  a  table  in  an  alcove  hidden  by  a  curtain. 
It  was  the  leisure  time  between  luncheon  and 
dinner  and  most  of  the  tables  were  deserted. 
Later  two  men  in  the  uniform  of  the  United 
States  Army  came  in  and  took  seats  at  a  table 
near  them,  looking  carefully  around  the  room 
and  afterward  bending  their  heads  together 
over  a  piece  of  paper. 

"Medium  size;  good  build;  graceful  form; 
long,  curling  brown  hair;  gray  eyes  with  shades 
of  blue;  fair  complexion;  picturesque  appear 
ance,"  one  of  them  drawled  after  draining  his 
third  glass. 

"Hair  is  always  uncertain.    It  might  be  cut." 
"Eyes  ought  to  have  a   permanent   signifi 
cance,   but   if  sometimes   blue  and   sometimes 
gray  how  the  dickens  can  you  tell?" 

"Fair  complexion;  all  right  unless  he  paints." 
"Picturesque;    probably  he  does." 
Carrington,   hidden   behind   the  curtain,  ex 
changed     glances     with     his     companion     and 
anxiously    waited     till    their    neighbors    were 
gone. 

As  they  went  down  the  street  they  saw  the 

[3°] 


THE    VOYAGES 

two  officers  opposite.  At  the  corner  the  Cap 
tain  and  Jasper  turned  down  a  cross  street. 
The  blue-uniformed  men  followed,  as  if  they 
too  might  have  been  incidentally  going  in  that 
direction.  When  they  reached  the  next  cor 
ner  the  Virginians  turned  again  and  looked. 
The  officers  still  followed  them. 

At  the  next  turning  were  two  men  fighting, 
a  group  of  street  idlers  blocking  the  way. 
Skilfully  eluding  the  pack,  the  Captain  and 
Jasper  had  the  satisfaction  on  looking  back 
of  seeing  the  unknown  officers  caught  in  the 
mob  and  jostled  to  the  pavement.  While  the 
victims  were  extricating  themselves  Jasper 
drew  his  companion  down  a  flight  of  steps  into 
a  subterranean  apartment.  The  room  was 
empty,  and  Jasper  hurried  through  it,  holding 
the  Captain  by  the  hand.  They  passed  through 
the  door  on  the  opposite  side  and  came  into  the 
open  street,  where  they  called  a  hack.  Giving 
an  order  to  the  driver  they  speeded  up  the 
street.  They  did  not  see  a  dark  man  of  sin 
ister  aspect  who  looked  in  vain  for  another 
vehicle  and  went  his  way  cursing. 

"Neatly  done,"  said  the  Captain. 

"That  comes  of  knowing  your  San  Francisco. 
I  am  taking  you  to  my  quarters.  When  you 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

reflect  upon  the  importance  of  quiet  you  will 
understand  that  they  cannot  be  of  a  magnifi 
cent  description,  but  they  will  give  us  a  safe 
shelter.  To-morrow  the  Uncle  Sam  will  set 
sail  for  New  York,  and  two  vagabonds,  very 
much  unknown,  will  be  among  the  passengers. 
See?  I  shall  reverse  the  name  of  our  host  of 
this  afternoon  and  become  'Job  Peters/  a  ship 
wrecked  sailor.  And  you  —  you  shall  be  a 
wandering  troubadour  from  Provence  and 
from  the  twelfth  century.  You  look  enough 
like  it,  and  your  guitar  will  come  in  place. 
What  name  shall  you  take?'' 

They  talked  and  planned  far  into  the  night, 
but  were  up  betimes  and  went  early  aboard 
the  Uncle  Sam.  They  stood  together  and 
watched  the  varied  throngs  come  up  the  gang 
plank.  Jasper  made  jesting  remarks  in  an 
undertone,  though  Captain  Pickett  warned 
him  that  their  conversation  must  be  limited 
and  of  the  most  commonplace  character. 

'Yon  Cassius  hath  a  lean  and  hungry 
look,'"  whispered  Jasper,  as  a  tall,  spare  man, 
his  slouch  hat  low  over  his  eyes  and  his  chin 
sunk  in  his  collar,  passed  them  with  a  keen 
glance.  A  few  feet  away  the  man  turned  and 
again  looked  at  them,  but  Captain  Pickett, 

[32] 


THE    VOYAGES 

clever  in  his  part  of  alien,  stared  vacantly  at 
him  and  he  went  on. 

The  ship  weighed  anchor  and  the  long,  weary 
voyage  began.  She  was  barely  out  of  sight  of 
land  before  it  began  to  be  whispered  about 
that  two  of  her  passengers  were  of  unusual 
interest  even  in  that  motley  crowd.  One  was 
"Job  Peters,"  a  sailor  whose  graphic  yarns  en 
lightened  the  tedium  of  the  monotonous  voy 
age.  The  other  was  "Arnaut  Jasmin,"  from 
South  Europe,  a  slender,  graceful  man,  having 
but  slight  acquaintance  with  the  English 
language.  He  would  listen  to  the  stories  of 
his  sailor  companion,  now  with  interest  and 
again  with  bewilderment  as  a  confusion  of  new 
words  would  interrupt  the  thread  of  the  nar 
rative.  When  alone  he  would  take  his  guitar 
and  sing  a  sprightly  lyric  of  France  or  a  Span 
ish  serenade,  playing  an  accompaniment  as 
he  sang.  A  group  of  music  lovers  would 
gather  round  him  in  moods  responsive  to  the 
gaiety  of  his  barcarolles  or  the  melancholy  of 
his  love  songs. 

"Lieutenant,  have  you  an  enemy?" 
The  two  Virginians  stood  in  a  remote  part 
of  the  boat  and  trusted  themselves  to  speak 
naturally. 

[33] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

"I  hope  so,  Captain.  I  should  not  like  to 
be  so  characterless  as  not  to  have  one." 

"But  an  inveterate  enemy,  I  mean.  One 
who  pursues  you  relentlessly  as  a  supreme  ob 
ject  in  life,  like  the  villain  in  the  play  on  the 
track  of  the  noble  hero." 

"I  have  never  posed  as  a  noble  hero  suffi 
ciently  to  know.  Possibly  if  I  should  ever 
distinguish  myself  in  that  way  such  a  person 
ality  might  develop.  It  would  be  necessary, 
as  the  play  could  scarcely  go  on  without  him." 

"I  am  in  dead  earnest,  Jasper." 

"So  am  I." 

"And  this  may  be  a  tragedy  for  you.  I  am 
trying  to  warn  you." 

"Don't  do  it.  Not  that  I  am  ungrateful, 
but  you  know  what  the  philosophic  Arabs 
say: 

"On  two  days  it  steads  not  to  run  from  thy  grave  — 
On  the  appointed  and  the  unappointed  day; 

On  the  first  neither  balm  nor  physician  can  save, 
Nor  thee  on  the  second  the  universe  slay. 

"  But  what   on  earth  has  put   it   into  your 

head  just  now  that  I  have  —  what  did  you  call 

him?  —  an    inveterate    enemy?     You    do    not 

fancy  that  something  is  about   to  happen  to 

[34] 


THE    VOYAGES 

me,  do  you?  What  shadow  do  you  see  upon 
the  deck?" 

"It  is  worse  than  a  shadow;  it  is  a  persist 
ent  and  vindictive  looking  substance  that  has 
caused  me  anxiety  for  some  days;  the  spare 
man  with  a  dark,  gloomy,  sinister,  determined 
face  -  -  'yon  Cassius,'  in  a  word." 

"Why,  I  never  saw  the  fellow  before." 

"Nor  I.  But  he  watches  you  most  malevo 
lently.  He  may  be  mad.  But  I  don't  like 
it,  and  if  I  were  you  I'd  be  on  the  alert  when 
he's  around." 

"It  must  be,  then,  Captain,  that  there  is 
some  one  on  board  who  does  not  like  me.  I 
am  grateful  to  him.  You  warn  me  of  him? 
I  am  even  more  grateful  to  you." 

"He  seems  to  be  one  of  our  own  countrymen, 
strange  to  say.  He  speaks  most  unmistakably 
the  mother-tongue  of  the  blessed  State  to  which 
we  are  bound." 

"I  can't  think  who  he  is  unless  it  is  that 
hound  Campo.  They  call  him  the  Raven, 
because  he  is  dark  and  gloomy  and  prophetic 
of  evil.  But  I  beg  the  raven's  pardon;  this 
Raven  is  more  than  that:  he  is  thoroughly 
unprincipled  and  desperate.  I  myself  don't 
know  him,  but  have  been  told  that  he  regards 

[35] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

me  with  especial  malevolence  because  he  is 
jealous.  The  puppy  has  the  presumption  and 
impudence  to  imagine  himself  in  love  with  one 
whose  heart  is  in  my  keeping." 

"Ah!  that  sounds  reasonable,  though  not 
the  less  detestable.  But  stay,  some  one  is 
coming." 

And  the  Captain  strummed  gently  on  his 
guitar  and  turned  a  melancholy  gaze  sea 
ward. 


36] 


CHAPTER  III 

SAILORS'   REST 

WHEN  the  Uncle  Sam  weighed  anchor 
in  New  York  harbor  two  of  her  pas 
sengers  were  standing  a  little  apart  from  the 
others,  silent  amid  the  commotion  of  arrival 
but  watching  narrowly  all  that  occurred  and 
listening  with  quiet  attention  to  the  conversa 
tion  that  went  on  around  them,  their  anxiety 
hidden  by  an  air  of  casual  interest.  The  dark 
man  they  called  Cassius  stood  near  them. 

When  the  pilot  came  on  board,  the  Captain 
of  the  ship,  with  the  eagerness  of  one  who  has 
had  no  word  from  shore  for  weeks,  called  out: 

"What's  the  news?" 

"It's  a  black  squall  here,"  was  the  reply, 
"and  it  veers  north'ard  and  southward  till  a 
man  doesn't  know  which  way  he's  sailing." 

"What's  the  particular  blow  today?" 

"Arrests  for  treason  and  all  that.  One  man 
just  brought  here  in  a  boat  in  irons.  Let's 
see  —  what's  his  name?  He's  a  Com'dore  — 
Com'dore  Barren,  —  yes,  that's  it." 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

"Job  Peters"  started  like  one  who  had  re 
ceived  a  sudden  shock  and  his  friend  impul 
sively  moved  toward  him  as  if  to  defend  him 
from  a  blow.  The  dark  man  smiled  grimly. 

"I  can't  help  feeling  that  it's  kind  o'  queer 
to  think  of  Americans  being  brought  to  for 
that  sort  o'  thing,  and  one  with  the  Com'dore's 
log-book,  too."  The  ship's  Captain  spoke  irri 
tably.  "But  I'm  not  saying  anything  except 
it's  a  time  when  it  pays  a  man  to  keep  his  sails 
close  reefed  and  hug  the  shore." 

The  two  quiet  travelers  had  no  baggage  to 
detain  them,  he  of  the  troubadour  guise  having 
left  all  papers  and  valuables  in  the  care  of  the 
British  officers  who  had  occupied  San  Juan 
with  him,  and  Jasper  having  abandoned  in 
San  Francisco  everything  that  could  have 
betrayed  him. 

They  left  the  ship  separately,  meeting  a 
half  hour  later  at  a  designated  point  above 
the  wharf,  from  which  they  walked  on  along 
the  water's  edge. 

"Where  are  we  going,  Jasper?  New  York 
ought  to  be  big  enough  to  afford  us  a  haven  of 
safety  somewhere." 

uYes,  but  we'll  have  to  be  careful  where  we 
sail;  there  are  plenty  of  sand  bars  on  which 
[38] 


SAILORS'    REST 

to  wreck  our  craft  and  whirlpools  enough  to 
sink  us  to  the  depths." 

"I  see  you  think  we  are  adrift  upon  an 
unknown  sea." 

"Almost,  Captain,  though  I  do  know  one 
harbor  alongshore.  It  is  kept  by  an  old  sea 
captain  who  is  laid  up  now  but  never  gets  far 
away  from  the  ocean.  He  must  be  where  he 
can  hear  it  roll  and  see  it  toss  up  its  waves  to 
the  sun.  He  would  be  lonesome  without  that, 
so  he  stays  down  here  in  a  place  called  Sailors' 
Rest,  —  he  says  because  sailors  have  never 
been  known  to  rest  there.  He  is  out  of  poli 
tics,  —  has  never  been  in.  Says  he  found  the 
water  treacherous  enough  for  him." 

The  silent  man  knew  that  his  friend  was 
talking  against  time,  talking  against  thought, 
talking  against  feeling.  He  took  his  hand  and 
gently  spoke  his  name.  The  two  went  on  in 
silence  until  they  reached  Sailors'  Rest,  where 
they  were  received  by  a  bluff  old  seaman, 
rollicking  and  jolly,  with  a  walk  like  the  roll 
ing  of  the  waves. 

"Jasper  Carrington!     Many's  the  storm  your 

uncle,  the  Commodore,  and  I  have  weathered 

together,  and  many's  the  voyage  we've  taken 

over  waves  that  rocked  as  gently  as  a  cradle." 

[39] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

Jasper  introduced  his  companion  and  the 
sailor  went  on: 

"  You're  both  as  welcome  as  a  sunshiny 
morning  after  a  squally  night;  and  you,  Cap 
tain  Pickett,  —  I  am  as  glad  to  see  you  as  if 
you  had  trod  the  quarterdeck  with  us." 

He  led  the  way  upstairs  with  voluminous 
expressions  of  delight.  When  they  were  in 
his  loft  he  shut  the  door  and  turned  to  Jas 
per  with  a  serious  look. 

"I  know  about  Uncle,"  said  Jasper.  "I 
heard  it  as  I  landed." 

uYou  mustn't  cast  anchor  here  very  long. 
There's  nothing  you  can  do  and  you'd  only 
make  things  worse  by  getting  scuttled  yourself. 
He  has  shipmates  here  and  they'll  do  every 
thing  that  can  be  done  to  get  him  into  safe 
water  again." 

"I  know  you  will  do  all  that  is  possible." 

"I'll  set  your  sails  for  a  safe  harbor  where 
you  can  look  around  a  bit  and  get  your  bear 
ings.  Of  course,  they  can't  do  anything  to 
the  Com'dore  more'n  to  keep  him  in  the  hold 
awhile." 

"I  thought  Sailors'  Rest  was  as  good  a  har 
bor  as  could  be  found,"  said  Jasper. 

"It  looks  like  it,  but  loyal  as  I  am  and  quiet 
[40] 


SAILORS'    REST 
as  I  am,  they  have  an  eye  on  my  place,  for  some 


reason." 


A  commotion  below  called  the  old  sailor  away 
and  his  guests  heard  him  saying: 

"On  with  your  serious  mug  and  doctor's 
coat,  shipmate." 

He  went  on  down  the  stairs  and  his  voice 
came  back  to  them  in  greeting  to  apparently 
unwelcome  visitors: 

"Officers  is  it  you  want?  You  won't  find 
'em  here.  What  do  you  think  I  want  o'  shoot 
ing  irons  and  cutting  things  around  Sailors' 
Rest?  This  is  a  peaceful  harbor  for  unsea- 
worthy  craft  to  sail  into  and  put  up  for  repairs. 
You  won't  find  anything  here  but  boats  gone  to 
wreck  and  sea-dogs  on  their  last  legs." 

"I  suppose  you  will  let  us  look  around  over 
your  upper  deck,  will  you  not?  This  young 
man  was  on  the  boat  with  them  and  heard 
them  arranging  to  come  here." 

"  There's  no  one  come  yet,  but  go  right 
ahead;  no,  wait.  Better  ask  old  Pill-box  first. 
There's  a  sick  man  up  there  steering  straight 
for  t'other  world  with  a  gospel  pilot  towing 
him  in,  and  you  might  have  to  step  in  quiet. 
Here  comes  the  medical  mate.  These  gentle 
men  want  to  go  up,  Doc." 
[41] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

"They  can't,  unless  they  want  to  have  mur 
der  on  their  souls." 

After  a  moment's  consultation  they  decided 
to  give  the  sick  man  his  one  chance  and  de 
parted.  The  sailor  returned  to  his  guests. 

"I  made  them  believe  old  Salt- Water  Jake 
was  a  life-buoy,  and  he  doesn't  know  a  pill 
from  a  pulpit.  But  it's  getting  rough  weather 
here  for  you.  There's  a  squall  coming  up 
from  the  north  and  you'd  better  up  sail  and 
scud  before  the  wind  to  a  safer  port." 

"None  of  your  ports  up  this  way  seem  to  be 
very  safe,"  replied  Jasper. 

"Well,  you  might  have  struck  a  peacefuler 
landing  than  this.  But  there's  a  gospel  tug 
up  in  the  city  hooked  to  a  Ship  of  Zion  away 
up  among  the  high  swells  that'll  tow  you  along 
into  smoother  sailing  and  land  you  on  to  a 
shore  where  the  green  pastures  of  peace  will 
lie  all  around  you." 

The  "gospel  tug"  mentioned  by  the  old  sailor 
was  the  pastor  of  a  popular  church  in  New 
York.  Though  he  was  of  a  Northern  family, 
brother  of  a  man  who  afterward  won  distinc 
tion  in  the  Federal  Army,  his  sympathies  went 
out  to  the  South.  Many  a  Southron,  fleeing 
homeward  to  offer  his  sword  to  his  country, 
[42] 


SAILORS'    REST 

had  been  protected  and  helped  on  his  way  by 
the  great-hearted  preacher. 

The  two  soldiers  knew  of  the  minister  and 
his  friendship  for  their  cause,  and  gladly  fol 
lowed  the  suggestion  of  their  friend. 

So  often  had  similar  incidents  occurred  that 
Dr.  Paxton  was  not  surprised  that  morning 
to  receive  a  call  from  the  two  who  were  flee 
ing  from  the  over-warm  hospitality  of  the 
otherwise  frigid  North. 

"George  Pickett  and  Jasper  Carrington,  you 
say?  Good  names  —  names  that  are  both  dear 
to  me.  Nevertheless,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  am 
glad  to  see  you,  for  the  atmosphere  here  is  not 
very  healthful  for  such  as  you,  my  friends." 

"Any  atmosphere  should  be  healthful  where 
you  are,  Doctor." 

"Ah,  if  it  were,"  said  the  minister,  "I 
would  diffuse  it  all  over  the  country  and  re 
store  sanity  and  good  fellowship." 

"  You  are  doing  useful  work,  as  it  is,  in  mak 
ing  a  haven  of  restfulness  and  safety  for  those 
who  are  hastening  to  the  defense  of  their 
homes  and  firesides." 

"I  do  the  little  that  God  has  given  me  the 
power  to  do.  But,  come,  you  have  not  break 
fasted." 

[43l 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

"No;  our  late  host,  generous  as  he  is,  had 
good  reason  for  not  insisting  upon  our  company 
at  breakfast." 

"Then  you  shall  give  me  that  pleasure. 
Breakfast  is  served  and  I  hope  we  may  be 
allowed  to  take  it  in  peace." 

But  the  good  man  was  not  permitted  to 
realize  his  hope.  They  had  just  taken  places 
at  table  when  the  bell  sounded  and  the  host 
excused  himself.  Returning  he  said: 

"They  have  begun  early  today.  It  is  the 
third  time  within  a  week  that  my  house  has 
been  thus  honored.  Come  down  this  hall 
and  find  a  hiding-place  outside  while  my  faith 
ful  butler  looks  for  the  door-key  which  he  has 
accidentally  dropped." 

He  guided  them  through  a  hallway  into  a 
small  garden  inclosed  by  a  high  wall,  beckon 
ing  to  two  men  who  were  fastening  to  a  lattice 
a  rose-vine  which  had  been  torn  loose  by  the 
wind.  The  workmen  came  promptly  forward, 
as  if  accustomed  to  such  interruptions,  and  put 
their  rough  coats  and  hats  upon  the  new 
comers,  saying,  "Quick,  take  our  places  at 
the  roses,"  and  disappeared. 

The  officers  and  their  sinister-looking  guide, 
having  reached  the  dining-room  in  their  search, 

[44] 


SAILORS  '    REST 

looked  from  the  window  and  saw  two  men 
who  seemed  absorbed  in  gardening.  Raising 
the  window  one  of  them  called : 

"Have  you  seen  any  men  going  through  here 
this  morning?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Jasper.  "We  ain't  seed 
nobody."  He  spoke  with  a  nasal  twang  and 
fumbled  clumsily  with  his  hat. 

The  other  workman  looked  on  with  an  ex 
pression  of  curiosity  as  if  but  half  compre 
hending  what  was  said. 

Returning  to  the  library  the  officers  took  an 
apologetic  leave  of  Dr.  Paxton. 

"That  is  all  right,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
Doctor.  "These  times  require  strict  watch 
fulness.  Good  morning." 

When  the  unwelcome  callers  were  gone  Dr. 
Paxton  invited  the  volunteer  gardeners  to  re 
turn  to  their  breakfast,  at  the  close  of  which 
he  said: 

"I  hope  you  will  not  think  it  inhospitable  if 
I  suggest  your  going  at  once;  it  is  sometimes 
far  more  hospitable  to  speed  the  parting 
guest." 

"We  thank  you,  Doctor,  with  all  our  hearts 
for  this,  the  truest  hospitality,  but  the  ques 
tion  is,  how  are  we  to  get  away?" 

[45] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

"Remembering  a  friend  is  leaving  for  Can 
ada,  I  have  just  sent  a  message  to  him  hasten 
ing  his  departure  by  a  day  or  two.  His  love 
for  me  and  loyalty  to  our  cause  is  unquestioned; 
you  will  be  safe  with  him." 

"Go  to  Virginia  by  way  of  Canada?" 

"It  is  a  case  in  which  the  longest  way  around 
is  the  shortest  way  home,"  he  laughed. 

That  evening  George  Pickett  and  Jasper 
Carrington  took  the  train  for  Canada,  every 
revolution  of  the  wheels  carrying  them  farther 
and  farther  away  from  the  home  and  friends 
they  were  so  eager  to  reach. 


[46] 


CHAPTER  IV 

CATHERINE 

THE  dim  old  library  at  Magnolia  Lawn 
was  very  cool  and  quiet.  The  sun,  which 
all  day  had  beaten  somewhat  too  warmly  down 
upon  the  thick  vines  and  closed  shutters,  now 
sent  his  last  level  rays  unhindered  through  the 
wide  uncurtained  windows.  One  of  them,  slip 
ping  silently  inch  by  inch,  at  last  touched  the 
flowerlike  face  of  a  girl  sitting  in  a  low  chair 
by  the  center-table.  She  glanced  at  the  west 
windows,  then  closed  the  book  which  had  lain 
idle  on  her  knee.  It  was  useless  to  try  to  read; 
she  had  not  turned  a  page  since  first  sitting 
down  some  twenty  minutes  before. 

She  walked  slowly  to  the  end  of  the  long 
room  and  stood  with  her  hands  behind  her, 
looking  northward.  She  did  not  see  the  wide 
gardens  nor  the  fields  beyond.  She  saw,  hun 
dreds  of  miles  away,  the  Northern  camp. 
Floating  proudly  above  it  were  the  once  be 
loved  Stars  and  Stripes.  She  saw  the  long 
[47] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

ranks  of  men  in  blue,  and  among  them,  prepar 
ing  to  fight  —  perhaps  already  fighting  - 
against  his  home,  his  friends,  his  brothers, 
was  the  man  she  loved.  Dear  God!  could  she 
bear  anything  so  horrible?  Surely  her  heart 
must  break.  Surely  some  terrible  illness  must 
smite  her,  mercifully,  to  blot  out  consciousness, 
memory,  torment. 

"Why  shut  up  in  the  library,  Cousin  Kate? 
I've  been  looking  for  you  everywhere." 

"Oh,  is  that  you,  Garnett?"  She  turned, 
with  a  wan  smile,  as  he  crossed  the  room. 
"I  thought  you  were  busy.  I've  been  trying 
to  read." 

"Why  ' trying/  if  you  are  not  in  the  mood?" 

"Oh,  because.  It  doesn't  do  to  think  too 
much.  I  can't  keep  my  thoughts  from  those 
of  our  boys  who  haven't  come  home  yet.  Hun 
dreds  have  come,  you  know,  from  all  over  the 
country,  but  there  were  a  good  many  on  the 
Pacific  Coast,  and  nothing  has  been  heard  of 
them.  There  is  Captain  Pickett,  for  one.  It 
surely  cannot  be  that  he  would  remain  with 
the  North.  And  yet  —  where  is  he?  No  one 
has  heard,  no  one  has  any  idea.  It  seems  so 
terrible  not  to  know,  doesn't  it?" 

She  was  silent  for  a  few  moments. 

[48] 


CATHERINE 

"There  are  others  we  know  personally. 
Lieutenant  Carrington,  of  Brightview,  the  big 
place  over  by  the  gap;  I  don't  believe  you've 
ever  met  him.  The  family  inherited  the  place 
and  came  there  when  you  were  away.  His 
mother  and  sister  are  nearly  wild.  Some  one 
-  but  an  enemy  of  his  —  sent  word  that  he 
was  seen  in  New  York  days  ago,  so  he  must 
have  come  east.  And  his  not  coming  home 
looks  so  suspicious.  Can  you  imagine  any 
thing  that  would  detain  him  —  that  would 
detain  any  one  after  landing?" 

"There  are  always  delays,  Cousin  mine,  and 
of  course  if  our  men  walked  out  with  French 
leave  —  they  may  not  have  been  allowed  to 
resign,  you  know  —  if  they  deserted,  to  put  it 
bluntly,  they  are  liable  to  arrest." 

"And  what  then?"  The  words  were  only  a 
whisper. 

He  glanced  at  her  white,  tense  face;  then 
closed  his  big  hand  over  her  small  one  as  it 
hung  at  her  side. 

"Nothing,  perhaps,"  he  said  reassuringly. 
"A  few  days'  imprisonment,  or  a  mere  repri 
mand,  probably." 

"You  really  think  so,  Cousin  Garnett?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  like  an  eager  child. 

[49] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

He  turned  away  his  head.  He  was  not  used 
to  lying,  this  clear-eyed  young  soldier. 

"Surely,  Cousin  mine.  But  why  waste  ten 
der  sympathy  over  neighbors  and  heroes  you 
have  hardly  seen,  when  they  may  not  be  in 
need  of  it?  And  God  knows,"  he  added 
solemnly,  "we  may  all  be  in  dire  need  of  it  be 
fore  many  moons  have  passed.  How  doubly, 
trebly  blessed  are  those  of  us  for  whom  your 
special  prayers  will  arise.  Ah,  Kate,  if  I  might 
go  into  battle  to-morrow  with  a  word  of  more 
than  cousinly  affection.  If  you  would  give 
me  hope,  hope.  I  will  wait  —  for  years,  if  it 
need  be;  I  won't  bother  you,  if  you  will  only 
tell  me  that  I  carry  your  love  with  me  when  I 
go.  Can  you  —  will  you  —  tell  me  that? 
You  have  had  my  love  so  long." 

The  girl's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Garnett  dear!  Dear  Garnett!  I  do  love 
you,  but  not  that  way.  Please  don't  be  un 
happy  about  it.  And  you  make  me  unhappy, 
too.  And  we  should  have  only  sweet,  tender 
memories  of  your  last  evening  before  you  go 
out  to  fight  for  us.  You  go  to  fight  for  the 
South,  Garnett,  above  all,  but  —  you  have 
no  sister  —  when  the  other  men  are  thinking 
of  their  mothers  and  sisters,  if  they  seem  to 


CATHERINE 

be  fighting  for  them,  I  shall  be  proud  —  so 
proud  —  if  you  will  think  of  me.  We  have 
been  more  to  one  another  than  cousins,  Gar- 
nett,  dear;  you  have  been  to  me  the  brother 
I  have  never  had,  and  I  perhaps  to  you  the 
sister  who  died  when  you  were  little.  You 
may  fight  for  the  South  and  —  and  for  me, 
dear  Cousin/' 

She  turned  to  the  window,  where  the  twi 
light  was  deepening.  Her  voice  sank. 

"And  each  morning  and  evening,  wherever 
I  am,  I  shall  pray  for  you,  that  God  may  bless 
and  keep  you  and  bring  you  back  to  us." 

He  bent  and  kissed  her  two  hands, 
reverently. 

"It  is  as  God  wills,"  he  said  gently. 
"Though  I  may  not  have  your  heart  I  am 
more  than  blessed  in  having  your  prayers." 

He  left  the  room  slowly,  as  if  loth  to  go. 

The  girl  still  stood  by  the  window.  He  was 
very  dear  to  her,  this  soldier  cousin.  It  hurt 
her  to  give  him  pain.  She  wondered,  vaguely, 
how  girls  could  glory  in  their  conquests  when  it 
hurt  so  much. 

She  thought  of  one  man  whose  wooing  had 
frightened  her;  the  only  one  among  many 
for  whom  she  had  felt  no  pang  when  she  re- 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

fused  him.  She  had  since  heard  that  he  had 
sworn  vengeance  upon  Jasper.  What  a  cow 
ardly — what  a  despicable  —  step  to  take!  It 
was  he  who  had  sent  word  that  Jasper  had 
returned  to  the  East  but  remained  in  the 
Union  Army. 

She  lifted  a  white  face. 

"Dear  God,  make  it  not  true!  make  it  not 
true!" 


[52] 


CHAPTER  V 

INTO  THE  HEART  OF  THE  STORM 

FROM  Canada  our  travelers  rode  south 
ward,  keeping  to  trackless  wilderness 
and  mountain  roads.  After  some  days  they 
struck  a  narrow  pass  in  the  Cumberland  Moun 
tains  where  the  range  divides  the  golden  fields 
of  old  Kentucky  from  the  neighboring  lands  of 
Tennessee.  A  storm  had  swept  down  upon 
the  heights  and  a  swirl  of  strong  winds  hurled 
itself  wildly  over  the  towering  gray  ramparts 
and  against  the  jagged  walls  of  the  dark  moun 
tain-clefts.  Lightnings  flashed  into  the  black 
corridors  and  thunders  reverberated  from  wall 
to  wall  like  the  crash  of  guns  in  a  great  artil 
lery  battle.  Riding  through  the  pass  the 
Captain  and  Jasper  stopped  under  a  shelving 
ledge,  sheltering  themselves  from  the  blinding 
sheets  of  rain. 

"I  say,  Captain." 

"Well?" 

"This    doesn't    seem    like    hospitable    Ken 
tucky." 

[53] 


THE    BUGLES    OF     GETTYSBURG 

"It  does  not.  When  Kentucky  was  created 
all  the  acrid  characteristics  which  might  have 
been  scattered  through  her  and  injected  into 
the  hearts  of  her  people  were  heaped  up  along 
the  border  line  where  nobody  but  outlaws 
like  you  and  me  need  ever  meet  them.  Hos 
pitable  Kentucky  is  down  there  on  the  level 
green  and  gold  meadows  where  the  people  open 
houses  and  hearts  to  all  who  come  their  way." 

Jasper  looked  wistfully  down  into  the  valley. 

"If  the  poet  expected  a  cheerful  answer  to 
his  query,  'What  pleasure  dwells  in  heights?' 
he  could  not  have  addressed  it  to  fugitives 
lost  in  mountain  thunder-storms." 

"I  have  friends  down  there  in  the  meadow," 
said  the  Captain. 

"This  is  the  time  of  need  when  a  friend  would 
be  a  friend  indeed." 

A  retrospective  look  overspread  the  coun 
tenance  of  the  Captain. 

"The  homey  enchantment  of  the  old  place 
comes  back  to  me  now.  The  flavor  of  the  won 
derful  things  emerging  from  that  generous 
larder  appeals  to  me  more  strongly  than  did 
Lucullian  banquets  to  the  Roman  epicure. 
And  —  oh,  the  bottles  of  Kentucky  sunshine 
hidden  away  in  the  cellar,  wound  about  with 

[54] 


HEART    OF    THE    STORM 

spider-webs  of  decades  and  crowned  with  gar 
lands  of  vanished  years!" 

"If  I  ever  had  a  shade  of  delicacy  about 
accepting  unoffered  invitations  the  winds  have 
blown  it  away.  Let's  go." 

They  plunged  into  the  valley,  leaping  brooks 
and  fences,  pounding  over  rocks  and  rugged 
cross-roads  and  skimming  lightly  down  meadow- 
paths.  The  storm  followed  them,  blotting 
out  the  stars  that  flamed  in  the  dusks  of  the 
deep  sky  and  filling  the  night  with  a  cannon 
ade.  Entering  spacious  grounds  they  cantered 
up  a  wide  driveway,  dismounted  and  struck 
the  old  knocker  which  had  hung  upon  the 
front  door  since  "good  old  colony  times  when 
we  lived  under  the  king."  The  door  was 
opened  hesitatingly  and  a  face  peered  out. 
A  gleam  of  light  fell  upon  the  travelers  and 
the  door  was  thrown  wide  open  while  a  genial 
voice  called: 

"George  Pickett!  I  need  not  tell  you  how 
welcome  you  are." 

They  entered  the  wide  hall  and  the  Cap 
tain  introduced  his  friend.  The  host  cordially 
grasped  the  Lieutenant's  hand. 

"Your  friend  is  necessarily  on  the  right 
side,"  he  said  as  he  ushered  his  visitors  into  a 

[55] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

bright  room  where  they  were  welcomed  by  a 
gentle-faced  woman. 

"  I  have  been  watching  for  your  name  on  our 
Army  list,  Captain,"  said  the  host,  "and  have 
wondered  that  you  were  so  long  delayed.  I 
was  half  afraid  of  you  when  I  heard  your 
knock.  We  have  had  two  visits  today;  one 
from  cavalrymen  who  called  us  rebels  and  took 
off  our  horses,  and  the  other  from  a  detach 
ment  of  infantry  who  addressed  us  as  decorated 
Yankees  and  killed  our  cows.  You  may  under 
stand  that  the  experience  has  tended  to  nar 
row  our  hospitality  to  strangers." 

"It  might  have  that  effect." 

"Now  I  shall  take  you  to  my  room  where 
you  will  put  on  what  clothes  we  can  find  that 
fit  you  best  and  let  Mammy  Dilsey  dry  yours 
by  the  kitchen  fire.  After  that  you  are  to  have 
an  old  Kentucky  supper  such  as  you  have  not 
seen  for  years.  Pomp,  bring  out  the  '  Golden 
Particular';  nothing  else  will  do  for  an  occa 
sion  like  this." 

"Yas,  suh,"  said  Pomp  from  somewhere  in 
the  shadows. 

If  the  pleasant  home  environment  and  the 
lulling  influence  of  the  Kentucky  supper  led 
the  travelers  to  anticipations  of  a  restful  night 

[56] 


HEART    OF    THE    STORM 

they  were  doomed  to  disappointment,  as  they 
had  not  jogged  far  into  Slumber-Land  when 
they  were  awakened  by  a  vigorous  clutch. 

"They  have  come,"  said  the  Kentuckian, 
"and  they  outnumber  us.  No,  let  your  pis 
tols  alone.  You  can't  afford  a  fight  when  you 
don't  know  which  side  the  first  shot  may  bring 
down  on  you.  Come." 

The  visitors  followed  him  into  an  unfinished 
room  with  unplastered  walls  and  ceiling. 

"Up  among  the  joists." 

They  swung  themselves  up  and,  peering  down 
between,  waited.  Soon  afterward  footsteps 
entered  the  room  they  had  left  and  came 
toward  their  hiding-place.  The  door  opened  and 
Pomp  appeared  upon  the  threshold  carrying  a 
lighted  candle,  two  officers  following  him.  As 
the  sable  guide  stepped  across  the  entrance  he 
stumbled  and  the  candle  fell  from  his  hand. 

"Ef  dat  can'le  ain'  done  gone  en  unlit  it- 
se'f,"  grumbled  old  Pomp  from  the  darkness 
that  followed  the  accident.  "Jes'  wait,  Mar- 
sers,  en  I'll  git  a  match." 

The  matches  were  hard  to  find  and  some 
minutes  elapsed  before  Pomp  announced  ex 
ultantly: 

"Hyear  dey  is.     Now  we'll  hab  a  light." 
[571 


THE    BUGLES     OF    GETTYSBURG 

There  followed  a  succession  of  unavailing 
efforts  to  strike  a  light  and  Pomp's  disap 
pointed  voice  growled: 

:"Clar  ter  gracious!  'pear  lak  dese  matches 
am'  got  no  eend  'tall  'cep'n  de  wrong  eend." 

After  another  series  of  labored  efforts  he  suc 
ceeded  in  lighting  his  candle  and  started  toward 
the  door  where  the  officers  waited.  The  clat 
ter  of  galloping  horses  was  heard  coming  nearer 
and  nearer  and  then  the  cry: 

"Morgan's  Mens!    Morgan's  Mens!" 

"Morgan's  Mens  is  comin'!"  shouted  old 
Sambo  bursting  into  the  room  that  was  feebly 
lit  by  Pomp's  struggling  candle. 

The  two  officers  rushed  out  of  the  room, 
joined  their  companions  who  had  waited  below, 
and  their  horses  were  heard  clattering  away  in 
the  distance.  The  Captain  and  Sam  leaped 
from  the  joists. 

"Where  are  Morgan's  Men?" 

"De  Lawd  He  know,  Marse  Cap'n.  He's 
mos'  in  gen'ally  de  onlyes'  one  whut  does 
know.  Ober  on  t'udder  side  er  Ole  Kaintuck, 
I  s'pose.  Dey  wuz  hyear  yis'day,  en  any  man 
whut  'spec's  Morgan's  Men  ter  be  terday  whar 
dey  wuz  yis'day  don'  know  needer  de  mens 
ner  needer  de  hosses." 

[58] 


HEART   OF    THE   STORM 

"But  you  said  they  were  here." 

"  Dat's  'cause  dey  wan't.  Ef  dey'd  been  hyear 
dey'd  jes'  er  crope  up  silent  lak  en  cotch  dem 
ossifers  'fo'  dey'd  knowed  darse'fs.  Jake  en  Bill 
jes'  got  some  hosses  dat  we  sont  arter,  whut  de 
Marser  had  lef  'cause  we'd  rid  'em  up  de  walley 
a  little  piece  ter  de  hidin'-place  ter  sabe  'em  fer 
him,  en  sot  'em  clatterin'  down  de  grabble  paf 
en  den  we  screeched  '  Morgan's  Mens!'  en  den 
you  ought  ter  seed  dem  blue-coats  run." 

"I  am  sorry  your  rest  was  disturbed,"  said 
their  host. 

"It's  the  fortunes  of  war,"  replied  the  Cap 
tain. 

Next  morning  the  riders  were  early  in  the 
saddle  and  on  a  sunny  September  day  the 
beautiful  fields  of  Virginia  spread  out  be 
fore  them,  barely  touched  as  yet  by  the 
fires  of  war.  They  circled  the  Federal  lines 
and  on  the  I2th  of  September,  1861,  they 
rode  into  the  Queen  City  of  the  Confederacy, 
-  into  the  heart  of  the  storm. 

They  did  not  separate  until  they  had  been 
together  to  the  military  headquarters  and 
enlisted  in  the  Army  of  the  Confederacy. 
Then  Jasper  at  once  started  for  home,  stopping 
at  Magnolia  Lawn  as  he  passed. 
[59] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

It  was  dusk  when  he  dismounted  at  the 
steps  and  threw  the  reins  to  a  young  negro. 
The  front  door  stood  hospitably  wide  in  the 
warmth  of  the  early  evening. 

As  he  crossed  the  porch  a  little  figure  came 
running  down  the  long  hall  and  flung  itself 
into  his  outstretched  arms. 

"Oh,  Jasper,  you  have  come!  Thank  God, 
you  have  come !  I  was  so  afraid  —  they  said 
that  you  —  but  you  are  here,  my  love,  you 
are  here." 

She  lay  sobbing  brokenly  in  his  arms. 

"Nothing  matters  —  nothing  matters  —  you 
are  here!" 


[60 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  AMBER  PATH 

Sitting  by  the  roadside  on  a  summer  day, 
Chatting  with  my  messmates,  passing  time  away, 
Lying  in  the  shadow  underneath  the  trees, 
Goodness,  how  delicious,  eating  goober  peas. 

THE  notes  of  the  old  song  rang  out  in  a 
fine  baritone  and  wove  their  way  like 
a  silver  thread  in  and  out  among  the  leafy 
branches  of  a  cluster  of  trees  where  a  group  of 
soldiers  were  resting  after  a  toilsome  march, 
regaling  themselves  with  the  delicacy  celebrated 
in  their  song,  the  fruits  of  a  foraging  expedi 
tion  against  a  neighboring  farm  where  the 
remains  of  last  year's  crop  were  stored.  A 
chorus  of  voices,  tenor,  bass,  and  nondescript, 
joined  Lieutenant-Colonel  Jasper  Carrington 
in  the  refrain: 

Peas!   Peas!   Peas!   Peas!  eating  goober  peas! 
Goodness,  how  delicious,  eating  goober  peas! 

They  fell  to  with  renewed  relish  as  the  echo 
of  their  song  rolled  from  tree  to  tree  and  out 
[61] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

over  the  river.  Jasper  finished  his  repast 
and  lay  looking  sentimentally  through  the 
foliage  of  the  great  oak  that  spread  its  branches 
over  him,  singing  with  plaintive  softness, 
"Peas!  Peas!  Peas!"  to  a  gray  squirrel  peer 
ing  at  him  from  the  crotch  of  the  tree.  It 
scampered  off  to  a  very  high  limb,  from  which 
it  plucked  an  acorn  and  nibbled  it,  dropping 
the  cup  on  the  upturned  face  of  the  recumbent 
man,  who  retaliated  by  throwing  the  empty 
shell  of  the  goober  toward  his  saucy  enemy. 

A  strain  of  music  floated  through  the  wood 
land  and  Jasper  arose  and  leaned  forward  in 
attentive  attitude. 

"Listen!  Hear  my  old  Pete's  bugle.  Our 
General  is  coming.  Pete  always  bugles  'See 
the  conquering  hero  comes'  when  he  is  in 
sight.  Lord!  What  a  world  of  tones  Pete 
can  get  out  of  that  old  bugle!  One  might 
think  it  a  magic  bugle.  Its  plaintiveness 
almost  broke  one's  heart  that  day  he  learned 
that  our  General  was  wounded  at  Gaines's 
Mill.  Two  months  later  when  he  came  back, 
though  his  wound  was  so  far  from  healed  that 
he  could  not  put  on  his  coat,  every  note  of  the 
bugle  was  a  Resurrection  Day  note.  All  the 
flowers  that  have  ever  made  the  world  glad 
[62] 


THE    AMBER    PATH 

blossomed  again.  You  heard  all  the  birds  that 
had  made  music  in  the  forest  since  the  first 
songster  trilled  his  love-song  from  a  branch  in 
the  primeval  wood.  You  clasped  hands  with 
all  the  friends  whom  you  had  loved  in  days 
gone  by,  and  dwelt  with  all  the  radiant  things 
that  had  brightened  your  life.  It  was  melo 
dized  sunlight,  love  transmuted  into  music, 
life  triumphant  over  death/1 

The  tread  of  a  horse  was  heard  in  the  dis 
tance,  keeping  time  to  the  bugle  notes,  and  soon 
a  powerful  war-steed  broke  through  the  shrub 
bery.  His  rider,  a  slight,  graceful  man  who 
sat  his  horse  as  if  the  two  were  one,  was  he  who 
on  the  twelfth  of  September  nearly  two  years 
before  had  enlisted  in  the  Army  of  the  Confed 
eracy  and  on  the  following  day  had  been  com 
missioned  Captain.  Now  he  was  commander 
of  a  division  of  Longstreet's  Corps. 

His  hair,  long  and  curling  now,  floated  in 
the  wind  like  a  cloud-veil.  He  was  not  above 
medium  height  and  the  lines  of  grace  he  uncon 
sciously  followed  suggested  that  his  victories 
in  the  drawing-room  might  be  no  less  notable 
than  those  he  had  won  on  the  battlefield.  His 
face  was  of  that  fairness  which  defies  the 
bronzing  effect  of  sun  and  the  darkening  shades 


THE    BUGLES    OF     GETTYSBURG 

of  time.  An  expression  of  deeper  thought  was 
the  only  change  that  had  come  to  it  in  nearly 
two  fiery  years  which  had  passed  since  that 
wild  ride  from  the  North  into  the  raging  storm. 

Born  of  a  race  of  warriors,  schooled  in  mil 
itary  art,  trained  in  camp  and  barracks  and  on 
the  field,  a  boy  soldier  in  the  land  of  the  Mon- 
tezumas,  catching  the  flag  from  the  hand  of 
his  fallen  friend,  Captain  Longstreet,  and  carry 
ing  it  to  the  height  of  Chapultepec,  a  deter 
mined  man,  barring  with  slender  force  the  gate 
of  the  West  to  a  foreign  foe,  he  looked  not 
like  one  to  revel  in  martial  deeds,  because  of 
the  wide  and  deep  and  high  humanity  dominat 
ing  all  smaller  attributes  as  the  spirit  of  God 
rules  supreme  over  the  world. 

As  he  came  riding  down  from  the  west  his 
form  was  outlined  darkly  against  the  red  wine 
of  the  sunset  that  splashed  in  crimson  stains 
upon  an  amber-tinted  sky. 

"The  General!"  shouted  one  of  the  goober 
pea  devotees  on  the  hillside.  The  cry  swept 
from  group  to  group  and  the  air  was  rent  with 
cheers.  The  rider  raised  his  cap  and  the  smile 
that  lit  his  face  brought  the  rare  blue  glints  to 
his  eyes.  Thus  he  rode  till  he  had  passed  from 
view  and  ringing  cheers  followed  him. 


THE    AMBER    PATH 

Some  distance  in  advance  was  a  horseman. 
The  General  recognized  the  tall  form,  the  strong, 
erect  shoulders,  the  soldierly  bearing  and  the 
superb  horsemanship  of  Lee's  /'Old  War- 
Horse, "  whose  corps  was  said  by  the  Federals 
to  be  the  terror  of  their  army.  The  younger 
officer  put  his  horse  at  speed  and  was  soon 
beside  the  tall,  handsome  Corps  Commander. 

"How  are  you,  Pickett?"  said  the  Lieutenant- 
General,  laying  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
his  companion. 

The  two  rode  on  together  talking,  not  as 
commanding  and  subordinate  officer,  but  as 
old  friends  who  had  met  casually  on  the  road 
of  life. 

"You  saw  her  last  evening?"  asked  the  older 
man  turning  his  steel-blue  eyes  upon  his  friend, 
—  eyes  that  were  stern  and  piercing  except 
when  the  sunniness  of  his  mood  made  them 
twinkle  with  mirth.  The  sunniness  was  in 
them  now.  "You  gave  her  my  message?" 

"She  sent  her  thanks  and  good  wishes  in 
reply." 

"I  am  obliged  to  her.  But  how  do  you 
reconcile  it  with  military  tactics  to  follow 
Mars  and  worship  at  the  shrine  of  Venus  both 
at  once?" 

[65] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

"It  does  not  need  reconciliation.  It  is 
the  smile  of  the  gentle  goddess  that  gives  us 
strength  to  follow  the  frowning  god." 

"Suppose  Mars  should  refuse  to  divide  his 
kingdom?" 

"Ah,  but  he  never  does.  He  continues 
to  shed  his  favors  upon  you  and  you  have 
a  whole  empire  of  love  to  claim  your  devo 
tion." 

"But  I  do  not  go  galloping  through  forests 
and  over  rivers  and  past  hostile  sentries  of 
nights  just  for  a  look  and  a  word  and  come 
dashing  back  to  the  field  with  the  first  glint  of 
morning." 

"A  look  and  a  word?  But  they  are  worth 
the  hardest  ride  that  ever  soldier  took." 

They  rode  on  in  silence  for  awhile.  Then 
General  Longstreet  said: 

"If  we  go  into  the  North,  —  but  what  do 
you  think  of  the  plan?" 

"I  think  not  well  of  it." 

"Nor  I.  I  cannot  take  the  cheerful  outlook 
presented  by  one  of  our  chaplains,  that  Provi 
dence  has  at  last  consented  to  come  down  and 
take  a  proper  view  of  the  situation." 

"I  like  not  to  strike  at  other  men's  homes," 
said  the  younger  officer.  "To  defend  my 
[66] 


THE    AMBER    PATH 

own  I  think  my  sword  would  of  itself  leap  out 
of  its  scabbard." 

His  hand  went  to  his  side.  The  Lieutenant- 
General  was  filled  anew  with  wonderment  that 
so  slight  a  hand  could  wield  so  heavy  a  sword, 
but  he  had  seen  the  flash  of  that  blade  in  the 
front  of  the  battle  like  lightnings  in  a  storm 
and  men  rushing  after  its  blaze  to  the  gates  of 
death. 

"To  choose  our  ground  and  let  the  enemy 
attack  us  is  the  way  to  win;  as  at  Fredericks- 
burg,"  said  General  Longstreet.  "There  was 
a  battle!  I  dream  nights  of  the  glory  of  that 
day,  and  hear  General  Lee  say,  'It  is  well  that 
war  is  so  terrible,  else  we  should  become  too 
fond  of  it.'" 

"It  must  have  a  horrible  fascination  if  it 
could  enchain  him,  when  every  man  who  is 
killed  is  a  personal  loss  and  sorrow  to  him. 
Dear  old  'Marse  Bob'!  What  a  heart  he  has!" 

Thus  Lee's  "Old  War-Horse"  and  he  who 
was  called  the  "Bayard  of  the  Confederacy" 
rode  down  the  amber  path  of  sunset. 


CHAPTER  VII 

UNCLE  ZEKE 

/CATHERINE  MARSHALL  arose  from 
^^4  the  chair  in  the  library  where  she  had 
been  pretending  to  herself  that  she  was  read 
ing,  went  to  the  window,  drew  back  the 
heavy  curtain  and  looked  out  into  the  night. 
From  a  jagged  mass  of  clouds  flamed  a  blaze 
of  lightning  which  revealed  her  slim  height 
wrapped  in  a  shroud  of  fire.  A  dark  form 
came  from  a  clump  of  magnolias  into  the 
white  light. 

"Uncle  Zeke!"  she  called. 

"Yas'm;    dis  me,  —  dis  yo'  Ung  Zeke." 

"Come  in  out  of  the  storm  and  tell  me, 
quick,  please,  Uncle  Zeke,  what  you  have 
found  out." 

Uncle  Zeke  stepped  through  the  low  win 
dow  into  the  library. 

"Fs  moughty  sorry,  li'le  Missus,  'boutn 
what  I  found  out.  You  know  yo'  Ung  Zeke 
would  gib  his  ve'y  eyeballs  fo'  you,  Honey, 
[68] 


UNCLE    ZEKE 

but  I  reckon  dey-all's  got  Marse  Jasper  dis 
time  fer  sho',  widout  somebody  warns  him, 
en  dar  ain'  nobody  ter  do  dat  widout  we  kin 
fin'  a  li'le  bird  roun'  'bout  hyer  wid  moughty 
spry  wings.  In  de  ole  times  when  troubles 
come  dar  wuz  allus  birds  ter  ca'y  orange  blos 
soms  in  outn  de  wet  en  ter  ca'y  johnny-cakes 
ter  de  prophets,  but  'pear  lak  dey's  all  flewed 


now." 


"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  the  girl. 
"Please  tell  me  quick  what  you  heard.  Oh, 
Uncle  Zeke,  are  you  sure  about  your  Marse 
Jasper?" 

"Is  I  sho'  er  jedgment  day,  Honey?  Yas'm, 
'co'se  I's  sho',  fer  I  wuz  close  'nough  ter  de 
haid  debil  ter  tetch  'im,  en  yo'  Ung  Zeke's 
got  moughty  good  ears.  Dey  t'inks  I's  gwine 
ter  run  off  en  leabe  you-all  en  go  up  yander 
ter  de  Norf  whar  dey-all  goes  skatin'  Fofe-er- 
July  en  freezes  up  ebby  Christmas  en  don' 
thaw  out  no  mo'  'twel  way  de  naix  summer, 
en  whar  dey  say  de  Ian'  is  too  stiff  en  hard  ter 
raise  we-alls'  kin'  er  perwishuns  on,  en  whar 
dey  nebber  hab  hot  hoe-cakes  en  beaten  bis 
cuits  en  t'ings,  but  jes'  libs  on  cole  bread." 

"But  what  did  they  say?  Please,  —  please 
tell  me!" 

[69] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

"Laws  a  mussy!  Hain't  I  a  tellin'  you  ez 
fas'  ez  my  ole  tongue  kin  ju'k  out  de  wu'ds? 
Tear  lak,  Miss  Kate,  you's  in  a  pow'ful  big 
hurry  fer  dis  time  er  night.  Does  you  'spec' 
my  ole  tongue  ter  glib  out  de  wu'ds  ez  supple 
ez  yourn  does  ?  You  jes'  wait  'twel  it's  run  ez 
long  ez  minez." 

Catherine  clasped  her  hands  pleadingly. 

Uncle  Zeke  fixed  his  eyes  on  a  flicker  of  sheet 
lightning  over  at  the  edge  of  the  world  and 
prepared  to  make  the  effort  of  his  life. 

"Well'm,  I  got  in  de  room  er  de  Kunnel  his- 
se'f,  'long  er  my  tellin'  'im  dat  I  knowed  all 
'bout  a  plan  ter  grab  'im  en  all  his  sogers  ez 
dey  come  'long  up  de  road,  en  how  dar  wuz  a 
passel  er  Confedericks  absquaterlatin'  darse'fs 
in  a  clump  er  underbresh  jes'  raidy  ter  jump 
out  at  'em  unbeknownst.  Hya  —  hya  —  I 
got  de  Kunnel  so  tangled  up  in  dat  under 
bresh,  Honey,  dat  he  went  on  axin'  queschuns 
'twel  I  mus'  a  tole,  'im  jes'  how  many  bushes 
dar  wuz  in  it  en  gin  'im  de  whar'bouts  er  ebby 
briah  en  blade  er  grass  in  de  whole  road." 

"What  else,  Uncle  Zeke?  For  pity's  sake, 
please  tell  me  what  else!" 

"Don*  you  t'ink  dat  wuz  'nough,  Miss  Kate? 
Leas'ways  it  tuk  'twel  all  de  ossifers  wuz  a 


UNCLE    ZEKE 

comin'  in  fer  a  confabulation  'bout  yudder 
t'ings  en  I  got  up  ter  go.  Dat  is,  dey  all 
thunk  I  got  up  ter  go,  but  I  didn'  hab  no  such 
notionment.  I  jes'  went  to'des  de  do'  when 
de  ossifers  wuz  a  comin'  in  en  slipped  suddent 
like  behime  a  screen  en  didn'  nobody  eben 
s'picion  fer  a  minute  dat  I  wan't  gone.  En 
dat's  how  I  yeard  all  'boutn  de  plan  ter  ketch 
Marse  Jasper." 

Uncle  Zeke  took  a  deliberate  view  of  all 
that  could  be  seen  through  the  darkness  and 
peered  out  to  consider  the  prospect  of  clear 
weather.  Catherine  breathed  a  deep  sigh. 

"Yas'm;  don't  be  onpatient,  Honey.  Fust 
off  dey  talked  'bout  some  mens  up  dar  in 
Wash'ton  what's  gone  on  a  rampage  some- 
whar  en  won'  sen'  'em  de  t'ings  dey-all  needs. 
Den  dey  talked  'bout  Marse  Abraham  Lin- 
kum  comin'  down  ter  camp  en  whut  he  said. 
Mebbe  you  don'  keer  'bout  whut  Marse  Lin- 
kum  said  needer,  dough,  does  you?" 

"For  heaven's  sake,  no!"  groaned  Kate. 

"Well,  den,  pres'mly  dey  'gun  ter  talk  'bout 
Marse  Jasper  en  how  dey  wuz  gwine  down  to 
Brightview  ter  ketch  'im,  en  how  'at  he  couldn't 
git  away  dis  time  nohow,  lak  he  did  las'  time, 
en  how  'at  dey  wuz  gwine  ter  start  a  passel  er 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

indigo  Yanks  out  atter  'im,  en,  Honey,  I's 
moughty  'fraid  dat  it's  all  up  wid  Marse  Jas 
per  dis  time,  'kaze  dar  ain'  nobody  ter  let  'im 
know  'cep'n  me  an'  I  couldn'  git  dar  in  time, 
ter  sabe  me,  en  you,  —  but  den,  'co'se  you 
couldn'  go." 

"I  can  go,  Uncle  Zeke;  but  you  would  get 
there  after  he  was  in  a  Northern  prison." 

"Mebbe  I  mought  but  den  I'd  show  my  good 
will." 

"None  of  us  doubts  that,  my  dear  old  black 
daddy,  but  now  we  want  something  that  will 
tell  in  another  way.  Lightning  is  the  only 
horse  on  the  plantation  that  can  make  the  dis 
tance  to  Brightview  to-night  and  you  know 
I  am  the  only  one  who  can  ride  him." 

"Yas'm,  li'le  Missus,  you  can  ride  all  right, 
but  you'd  be  daid  ez  a  do'-nail  when  you  got 
dar,  so  it's  better  fer  me  ter  go,  Honey,  eben 
ef  I  didn'  neber  git  dar." 

"No,  there  is  but  one  way,  Uncle  Zeke,  so, 
please,  sir,  go  and  saddle  my  dear  little  horse 
while  I  run  and  get  ready." 

Uncle  Zeke  went  away  grumbling. 

"  Yas,  she's  de  onlyes'  one  dat  kin  ride  Light- 
nin',  dat's  so,  but  whut  good'll  dat  do  when 
she's  kilt?  Ride  Lightnin'!  I'd  lak  ter  see 
[72] 


UNCLE    ZEKE 

anybody  else  ridin'  'im.  Didn'  fo'  er  dem 
Yankee  sogers  try  hit  de  yudder  day  en  didn' 
all  fo'  git  flung  ober  his  haid  'fo'  dey  could 
say  amens?  Yas,  she  kin  ride  all  right. 
'Tain't  de  hoss  dat  I's  skeered  er,  it's  de  ride. 
But  nemmine;  ole  Zeke  is  gwine  wid  her  en 
sabe  her  ef  he  kin,  en  ef  he  cyan't  den  he  kin 
bring  her  home  daid;  dat's  all  he  kin  do." 

The  pet  horse  whinnied  when  he  heard 
Kate's  voice  and  rubbed  his  silvery  head 
against  her  shoulder. 

"I  know  it's  hard  to  be  called  away  from 
your  dreams,  my  pretty,  but  we  are  going  to 
save  life,  —  his  life,  Lightning." 

"Humph!  It's  lak  as  how  you  gwine  ter 
lose  yourn,"  grumbled  Uncle  Zeke. 

Kate  mounted  and,  holding  out  her  hand  to 
the  old  man,  said: 

"Goodbye;  thank  you,  Uncle  Zeke.  Please, 
please  don't  let  anybody  know  where  I  have 
gone.  You  know  how  anxious  Papa  is  always 
and  he  would  be  so  worried." 

"Yo'  Ung  Zeke  ain'  neber  gwine  tell;  no, 
not  ef  his  ole  tongue  gits  paddleized  stiff  en 
stark.  But  he's  comin'  'long  wid  you,  Honey, 
en  ef  he  cyan't  keep  up  wid  you  he  kin  come 
'long  behimst  you  en  pick  you  up  ef  you  draps 
[73] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 
off.     He  don'  hab  ter  stay  home  ter  keep  no 


secrets." 


Lightning  took  the  low  fence  at  a  bound, 
Uncle  Zeke  mounting  Old  Grey  and  following 
with  great  effort  though  with  less  rapidity. 

There  was  a  fork  in  the  road  and  when 
Kate  came  to  it  she  paused  a  moment.  Both 
led  to  Brightview,  the  left  circuitous  and  re 
quiring  more  time,  the  right  shorter  and  beset 
by  obstacles.  She  turned  to  the  right  and 
had  ridden  a  short  distance  when  she  heard 
voices  and  the  tramp  of  horses  behind  her. 
The  tramping  ceased  and  she  heard  the  riders 
discussing  the  question  of  which  path  to  take. 
After  a  short  parley  they  rode  to  the  left. 

"I'd  jes'  lak  ter  know  which  road  dat  chile 
done  tuk,"  said  Uncle  Zeke  riding  up  to  the 
fork.  "One  er  de  roads  is  de  longes'  en  she 
wuz  natchelly  in  a  hurry,  but  den  she  knowed 
de  shortes'  one  wuz  dang'ous  en  'pear  lak  she 
wouldn'  a  tuk  dat  one  no  matter  how  big  a 
scurry  she  wuz  in,  en  'sides  de  snyars  en  pit 
falls  dar's  a  sedgebresh  fence  ter  jump  en  a 
branch  ter  fo'de.  No,  she  mus'  er  tuk  de 
yudder  one,  en  ef  she  did  she's  miles  en  miles 
away  by  now,  but  I  knows  how  ter  come  up 
wid  her.  Dar  ain'  nuttin'  'bout  dis  yer  nak 

[74] 


UNCLE    ZEKE 

er  woods  yo'  Ung  Zeke  don'  know  fum  ale  ter 
izzard.  Get  up  dar,  Ole  Grey!  Pick  up  yo' 
foots  en  get  ret  'long  ter  de  cross-road  en  we'll 
come  'pon  a  paf  dat  meks  a  nigh  cut  ter  dis 
lef  hand  road  'fo'  she  gits  dar." 

Old  Grey  obeyed  and  soon  reached  the  cross 
roads. 

"Huh!  Listen!  Dat  ain'  li'le  Missus.  She 
don'  neber  talk  ter  de  Debil  en  needer  do  she 
talk  lak  dat  ter  a  dumb  creeter  en  needer  would 
a  dumb  creeter  be  talkin'  back  ter  her.  Den 
ag'in,  she  ain'  got  no  sich  survigous  voice 
soundin'  lak  Br'er  B'ar  wid  a  bad  cold.  No, 
dey's  mens  a  talkin'  en  Yankee  mens  at  dat, 
fer  I  yeared  one  er  'em  say  dey  guess'  dat's 
de  ret  road.  Well,  /'//  he'p  'em  find  de  way. 
I  'members  when  de  onsartin  man  went  down 
fum  Jewslum  ter  Jerrycho  en  fell  'mongst  de 
thorns  en  dey  sprung  up  en  scratched  him  en  a 
good  Saracem  come  'long  en  showed  'im  de  way. 
Ole  Zeke  gwine  be  a  good  Saracem  now  en  gwine 
show  dese  Yanks  de  way  ter  Jerrycho,  too." 

Impelled  by  this  philanthropic  purpose  Uncle 
Zeke  rode  forward  to  the  leader  of  the  party. 

"Sarvent,    Marser.      'Pear    lak    you-alls    is 
strangers   in   dese   parts.     Is   dar  anyt'ing  de 
ole  man  kin  do  fer  you?" 
[751 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

"You  can  tell  us  the  way  to  Brightview  if 
you  will." 

"I  sho'ly  kin  do  dat,  Marser,  fer  I  knows 
ebby  blade  er  grass  in  dese  parts,  speshly 
Brightview,  en  de  shortes'  way,  Marser." 

uYes,  the  shortest  way;    be  quick." 

"Yas,  sah,  Marser,  but  de  shortes'  way 
sometimes  is  de  longes'.  Well,  you  see  dat 
paf  dat  runs  'long  'roun'  by  de  poplar  tree  wid 
de  big  white  streak  runnin'  up  en  down  whar 
de  lightnin'  struck  en  killed  daid  dat  same 
night  dat  ole  Missus  died  wid  ammonia  in  her 
breas'  jamby  twenty  years  ago  come  naix' 
fodder-pullin'  time,  en  de  ole  Marser  he  - 

"Never  mind  about  your  old  Master." 

"Well,  suh,  de  paf  goes  'way  'roun'  on  tur- 
rer  side  er  de  tree  'long  pas'  a  hill  whar  dar's 
a  ha'nted  house  standin'  whar  ole  Marse  Jerry 
Jones  libed  en  whar  he  kilt  a  man  en  dey  say 
dat  de  ha'nt  comes  back  uver  night  en  - 

"Oh,  shoot  the  ha'nt!" 

"Yas,  suh;  lots  er  folks  is  tried  ter  shoot  it 
but  'pear  lak  dey  cyan't  neber  hit  it.  De 
bullets  dey  jes'  flies  ret  th'oo  de  ha'nt's  close 
en  comes  out  on  turrer  side  er  him  en 
de  ha'nt  he  jes'  goes  ret  on  lak  nuttin'  had 
happened." 

[76] 


UNCLE    ZEKE 

"Well,  cut  it,  then,  and  come  to  the  point 
and  tell  us  about  the  road." 

"Well,  suh,  den  you  goes  on  twel  you  comes 
ter  a  riber  en  den  you  fodes  th'oo  de  riber 
kaze  dar  ain'  no  bridge  dar." 

"How  soon  will  that  bring  us  to  Bright- 
view?" 

"Well,  I  should  say  ef  you  goes  dat  'way 
'twould  bring  you  dar  in  'bout  a  hun'ed  yeahs; 
dat  is,  ef  'twan't  fer  de  water.  Considerin' 
de  water  I  don'  know  how  long  'twould  tek. 
You  mought  hab  ter  go  'roun'  de  yeth  en  come 
up  turrer  way." 

"Confound  you!  What  do  you  mean  by 
telling  us  all  this  rigmarole?" 

"I  wuz  tellin'  you  dat  way,  Marser,  kaze  I 
wuz  skeered  you  mought  go  dat  way  en  git 
los'.  Dat's  de  way  fer  you  not  ter  go." 

"Perhaps  you  could  tell  us  the  way  we  can 
go,  and  for  heaven's  sake,  don't  take  us  around 
by  Jupiter  if  you  can  help  it,  for  we  are  in  a 
hurry." 

"Yas,  suh,  I's  in  a  hurry,  too,  en  I  don' 
know  whar  dat  gemman,  Marse  Jup'ter,  libs. 
He  ain'  no  'quaintance  er  we-alls,  so  I  couldn' 
ca'y  you  'long  by  his  house  ef  I  tried.  Any 
how,  ef  you'll  tek  de  road  ter  de  ret  en  keep  on 

[77] 


THE    BUGLES    OF     GETTYSBURG 

twel  you  come  ter  a  road  dat  branches  off  fum 
dat  road  ter  de  lef '  en  ter  de  ret  en  you  tek  de 
lef'  hand  road  you'll  git  dar,  sho'." 

"I  wonder  if  you  are  telling  us  the  truth, 
old  man." 

"You  kin  b'liebe  me  er  not,  Marser,  jes'  ez 
you  choosen,  but  my  w'ite  folks  brung  me  up 
ter  t'ink  dat  a  lie  is  a  abomination  ter  de  Lawd 
(en  a  ve'y  present  he'p  in  time  er  trouble),  en 
I  natchelly  'spises  a  sto'y-teller." 

"You  look  trustworthy,  so  I  won't  doubt 
you.  Here's  a  shinplaster  for  you.  I  sup 
pose,  though,  you  would  rather  have  Confed 
erate  money." 

"No,  suh;  money's  money  ter  ole  Zeke  en 
he  suttinly  is  much  'bleeged  ter  you.  Ef  you 
eber  wan's  de  ole  man  you  knows  whar  ter  fin' 
'im.  Far'well  ter  you,  Marser.  I's  gwine 
th'oo  de  woods  turrer  way." 

Uncle  Zeke  watched  the  soldiers  file  off  in 
the  direction  he  had  pointed  out  to  them. 

"Huh!  Lak  ter  see  'em  git  ter  Brightview 
dat  way.  De  Lawd  knows  whar  dey'll  come 
out  at.  Li'le  Missus  t'ink  ole  Zeke  ain'  no  use 
on  dis  yer  ride!  Tell  you  whut,  de  snail  he 
don'  trabel  much  on  a  prize  race,  but  some 
how  he's  moughty  sho'  ter  git  dar,  en  de  lark  a 

[78] 


UNCLE    ZEKE 

fleein'  en  a  floppin'  on  de  wings  er  de  mornin's 
lakly  ter  git  shoot  by  de  hunter,  en  de  ole  hyar 
mought  bruk  his  laig  er  git  cotch  by  de  houn's. 
But  de  sly  ole  tar'pin  en  snail,  —  don'  nobody 
spec'  dem  en  dey  gits  dar." 

Uncle  Zeke  ambled  on  his  way,  satisfied  that 
one  young  Confederate  officer  owed  his  life 
to  him. 


79 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  LIGHTS  OF  BRIGHTVIEW 

KATE  was  riding  along  the  forest  path 
when  a  dark  form  emerged  from  a  clump 
of  trees  and  two  long  arms  were  brandished 
aloft.  Lightning  swerved  aside  and  his  quick 
movement  nearly  unseated  his  rider. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  child.  It  is  only  your 
friend,  the  old  Hermit,  who  comes  to  serve  you. 
Your  mission  is  needless,  Pearl  of  the  Mist. 
You  are  riding  through  the  forest  at  this  strange 
hour  to  save  Jasper  Carrington  from  the 
Yankees.  His  danger  lies  not  there,  but  here, 
nearer  home.  He  has  an  enemy  because  of 
you.  Tell  him  to  ride  with  all  speed  and  to 
watch  the  shadows  that  follow  him  through 
the  woods  to-night." 

"Thank  you,  and  God  bless  you.  I  will 
give  him  your  message." 

She  smiled  at  the  faith  which  lingered  with 
her  from  the  days  of  her  childhood  when  the 
old  Hermit  had  been  half  terror  and  half  guide 
[80] 


LIGHTS    OF    BRIGHTVIEW 

for  her,  and  the  smile  had  not  vanished  when, 
glancing  back,  she  saw  the  faintly  defined  form 
of  a  horseman  following  her.  Leaning  forward 
she  whispered  to  Lightning  and,  dashing  across 
the  glade,  entered  the  driveway  of  Bright- 
view. 

"Is  that  you,  Uncle  Jerry?"  she  asked,  as 
an  old  man  sleepily  answered  her  summons. 

"Who  dat  Ung  Jerryin'  me  dis  time  o' 
night?" 

"It's  your  Miss  Kate,  Uncle  Jerry.  Don't 
you  know  me?" 

"Yas'm;  'co'se  I  knows  you  now;  dat  is, 
ef  I  knows  it's  you,  but  de  night  time  en  de 
sleepy-haidedness  meks  my  knowin'  mighty 
unsartin.  So  dat's  hoccome  I  ax  you  who  is 
you?  En  now  I  ax  you  how  is  you?" 

"I  am  very  well,  thank  you,  Uncle  Jerry, 
and  I  hope  that  you  are  well." 

"No'm;  de  ole  man  ain'  so  well;  he's  got  a 
mighty  misery  in  de  back.  But  ainchu  skeered, 
Miss  Kate,  some  er  dese  Yankees  gwine  'scrip' 
dis  yer  li'le  filly  er  yone?  You  know,  dey's 
done  'scrip'  ebby  hoss  dat's  any  'count  in  de 
whole  neighborhood." 

"No,   Uncle  Jerry;    I  have  a  permit  from 
Colonel  Dodge  to  keep  him." 
[81] 


THE    BUGLES     OF    GETTYSBURG 

The  low-branching  trees  bordering  the  path 
touched  Kate  and  dripped  moon-kissed  drops 
of  rain  upon  her  as  she  passed.  Jasper  Car- 
rington  opened  the  door  to  her  light  knock, 
exclaiming  in  surprise: 

"Why,  Miss  Kate!  How  on  earth  did  you 
get  here,  at  this  hour,  too?" 

Then  a  pretty  girl  ran  out  and  kissed  her 
and  a  sweet-faced  matron  came  forward  and 
took  her  into  her  arms,  saying: 

"We  were  just  speaking  of  you,  dear  Kate." 

"Her  hands  are  cold.  Mother,  please  give 
her  some  of  this  old  Madeira  that  you  have 
hidden  away  through  all  these  years,  and  just 
brought  up  tonight  in  honor  of  your  scape 
grace  son." 

Kate  drank  the  wine,  declaring  that  she  was 
neither  cold  nor  tired  and  did  not  need  any 
thing,  though  her  pale  cheeks  belied  her  words. 

"You    know    I    was    going    to    see  you  to 


morrow." 


"Yes,  I  knew  you  were,  and  I  came  here 
to  tell  you  not  to  come,  for  there  is  a  detach 
ment  of  Yankees  after  you.  Uncle  Zeke  heard 
them  planning  it;  and  you  must  not  stay  here, 
either,  a  minute  longer  than  you  can  help. 
They  said  you  waylaid  their  messenger  and 

[82] 


LIGHTS    OF    BRIGHTVIEW 

took  the  dispatches,  and  that  they  regarded 
you  as  a  dangerous  character.  You  see,  dear, 
your  suddenness  surprises  them  and  they 
would  be  more  comfortable  if  you  went  North 
for  a  time." 

"There  is  something  else,  too,"  said  Kate, 
as  Jasper,  having  yielded  to  the  wishes  of  all, 
was  going.  "Be  cautious  as  you  ride  through 
the  woods  to-night,  and  be  careful  wherever 
you  are,  for  there  is  a  shadow  on  your  path 
way  that  threatens  a  greater  evil  to  you  than 
the  Yankees." 

"How  do  you  know  this,  my  little  prophet?" 

"The  Hermit  told  me,  and  then  —  then  — 
I  saw  the  shadow  myself  following  along  my 
pathway;  so,  please,  please,  be  careful." 

"I  am  not  afraid,  but  for  your  sake,  dear 
est,  I  will  try." 

He  looked  back  at  her  as  he  rode  away 
into  the  starry  silence  of  the  night,  and  said 
laughingly: 

"I  declare,  I  am  falling  into  a  belief  in  her 
mits  and  shadows,  and  had  she  warned  me 
that  a  sheeted  specter  was  on  my  track  I 
should  have  looked  for  it  with  perfect  confi 
dence." 

The  witchery  of  the  night-shrouded   forest 

[83] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

enwrapped  him  and  he  fell  a-dreaming.  The 
woodsy  odors  clung  around  him  with  myriad 
hands  of  enchantment.  A  bird  awakened  and 
trilled  out  a  greeting  to  the  night.  He  passed 
a  narrow  path  that  made  a  detour  into  the 
woods  and  came  back  to  the  main  road  a  short 
distance  ahead.  A  man  who  was  following 
him  came  to  this  point  and  plunged  into  the 
side  path.  At  the  cross-road  he  awaited  the 
approach  of  Carrington,  who  was  awakened 
from  his  reverie  by  the  whiz  of  a  ball  over  his 
head. 

"When  you  have  succeeded  in  emptying 
your  pistol  at  me  you  will  please  be  so  good  as 
to  explain  who  you  are  and  why  you  are  mak 
ing  so  unskilful  an  effort  to  murder  a  man  in 
the  dark.  Take  all  the  time  you  want  and 
don't  be  frightened.  I  have  no  pistol,  and 
would  not  stain  my  sword  with  the  blood  of  a 
coward/' 

The  dark  horseman  had  come  near  and  the 
misty  light  drifting  across  the  pathway  fell 
on  his  face. 

"Do  you  suppose  that  if  I  had  taken  seri 
ous  aim  I  could  not  have  put  a  bullet  through 
your  head  as  easily  as  over  your  hat?     I  merely 
wished  to  arrest  your  attention." 
[84] 


LIGHTS    OF    BRIGHTVIEW 

"Oh,  I  see  you  now.  No  need  to  tell  me  who 
you  are.  Every  man  in  the  South  knows 
Campo,  who  saved  his  life  by  betraying  his 
countrymen.  I  dare  say  you  can  shoot.  It 
is  a  ruffianly  sport  enough.  The  worst  I 
have  ever  heard  about  your  shooting  is  that 
it  is  in  the  wrong  direction." 

Campo  threw  his  pistol  to  the  ground. 

"I  have  a  sword.  You  have  called  me  cow 
ard  and  traitor.  That  means  that  one  of  us 
must  die.  You  cannot  refuse  me  the  satis 
faction  of  learning  which  one  it  is  to  be." 

"The  truth  does  not  demand  satisfaction; 
it  is  its  own  justification." 

"At  least,  you  must  defend  yourself,"  cried 
Campo  drawing  his  sword  and  riding  fiercely 
upon  Jasper. 

Campo  was  reckless  and  made  wild  lunges 
that  fell  wide  of  their  mark.  Jasper  struck  the 
sword  from  his  grasp  and  the  horse,  fright 
ened,  promptly  threw  Campo  and  dashed  off 
across  the  moonlit  sward. 

The  dawn  was  staining  the  east  with  a  pink 
light  shot  with  golden  arrows  when  Carring- 
ton  rode  by  the  pickets  guarding  the  camp. 
He  dismounted  in  front  of  his  tent  as  the 
drums  sounded  the  reveille: 
[85] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

I  can't  get  'em  up,  I  can't  get  'em  up, 
I  can't  get  'em  up  in  the  morning; 
I  can't  get  'em  up,  I  can't  get  'em  up, 
I  can't  get  'em  up  at  all. 

From  his  own  tent  came  a  repetition  of  the 
call,  clear,  full,  repeated  in  bugle  tones  and 
ending  in  a  prolonged  note  which  appealed 
to  him  with  a  force  he  had  never  understood. 
Then  the  curtain  of  the  tent  was  lifted  and 
Old  Pete  greeted  him  with  a  cry  of  joy. 

"I  knowed  dat  wuz  you,  Marse  Jasper. 
Ole  Pete's  call  meks  'im  see  t'ings  'fo'  he  sees 
'em.  En  I  took  up  my  bugle  en  bugled  fer 
you.  Ya-a-s,  Marse  Jasper,  ef  I  knowed  you 
wuz  daid  er  wounded,  air'  one,  ole  Pete  would 
bugle  fer  you  en  listen  fer  de  answer,  den 
bugle  ag'in  en  listen,  kaze  ef  de  bref  is  lef  yo' 
body  en  dumbed  yo'  tongue  yo'  sperit  wouldn' 
git  dumbed;  dat  would  answer  ole  Pete." 

"I  think  I  should  know  your  bugle  call, 
Pete,  too,  dead  or  alive.  But  here  is  some 
thing  from  my  mother;  here  is  a  package  also 
from  some  one  else.  'Give  it  to  Uncle  Pete,' 
she  said,  'and  tell  him  not  to  forget  my  mes 
sage.'" 

"Tain't    no    use    callin'    no    names,    Marse 
Jasper,  en  ole  Pete  ain'  neber  gwine  ter  fergit 
[86] 


LIGHTS    OF    BRIGHTVIEW 

de  message  dat  she  g'in  'im  ter  put  in  bugle 
langwidge  fer  her,  —  en  dat  las'  bugle  soun' 
wuz  de  message,  Marse  Jasper/' 

Throwing  his  bridle  to  Pete  he  entered  the 
central  tent.  Darkness  yet  lingered  inside 
and  on  a  small  table  was  a  tallow  candle  which 
had  burned  nearly  down  to  the  wooden  block 
that  served  as  a  candlestick.  Its  wavering 
light  glimmered  over  a  map  spread  upon  the 
table,  above  which  two  men  were  bending  in 
puzzled  study,  a  Major-General  seated  on  a 
camp-chair  and  a  Brigadier  looking  over  his 
shoulder. 

The  Brigadier  was  tall  and  rugged,  with 
dark  face  deeply  marked,  as  if  each  experi 
ence  of  life  had  engraved  its  line  in  the  his 
tory  written  on  his  countenance.  There  was 
nothing  of  the  reckless  dash  of  the  enthusias 
tic  warrior  in  his  aspect,  yet  one  looking  at  him 
felt  that  when  the  time  should  come  he  would 
lead  a  forlorn  hope  to  the  mouth  of  the  guns 
and  fall  before  them.  It  must  have  been  in  a 
spasmodic  ebullition  of  youthful  spirits  that 
he  had  made  an  onslaught  upon  his  comrade, 
Jubal  A.  Early,  at  West  Point  and  had  been 
expelled  from  that  venerable  institution  for 
such  premature  display  of  valor. 
[87] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

The  man  sitting  at  the  table  leaned  back 
and  looked  up  at  his  companion. 

"Do  you  know,  Armistead,"  he  said,  "I 
am  learning  the  true  value  of  a  war  map." 

"Delighted  to  know  that  it  has  a  value, 
Pickett.  I  have  always  thought  that  the  one 
exception  to  the  theory  set  forth  by  the  poet, 
*  Nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet/  was  the 
man  who  attempted  to  follow  a  war  map." 

"Just  so.  The  real  value  of  a  war  map  is 
in  pointing  out  with  definiteness  one  of  the 
many  imaginable  conformations  of  the  coun 
try  and  setting  it  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
possible,  leaving  us  free  range  to  choose  among 
the  rest.  I  used  to  fancy  that  if  an  Earth- 
Man  should  be  turned  loose  on  Jupiter  instinct 
would  lead  him  somewhere.  Since  this  war 
began  I  have  learned  more  about  the  limita 
tions  of  the  race.  Once  on  the  Chickahominy 
I  sent  for  immediate  re-enforcements.  A  de 
tachment  of  picked  men  started  out  under 
the  leadership  of  one  of  the  most  accomplished 
officers  in  the  service.  They  marched  all 
night  and  in  the  morning  found  themselves  in 
sight  of  the  camp  from  which  they  had  started." 

"What  had  become  of  you,  Pickett,  in  the 
meantime?" 

[88] 


LIGHTS    OF    BRIGHTVIEW 

"I  had  caught  another  detachment,  which 
had  been  ordered  northward  and  had  trav 
eled  due  south  till  it  accidentally  fell  in  with 
me.  Yet  our  men  have  hunted  over  this 
region  since  the  days  of  their  infancy.  Ah, 
here  is  Colonel  Carrington." 

Jasper  saluted  and  handed  a  paper  to  the 
General. 

"Thank  you,  Colonel.  You  carried  my 
message  promptly  and  have  returned  earlier 
than  I  expected." 

"My  return  was  hastened,  General,  by  the 
necessity  of  declining  a  pressing  invitation 
from  our  Northern  friends  to  remain  with 
them  for  a  time." 

"Northern  hospitality  is  occasionally  em 
barrassing  to  the  busy  Southerner  in  haste 
to  get  on  with  his  work.  I  commend  your 
strength  of  mind  in  resisting  their  fascina 
tions,  Colonel." 

Jasper  saluted  and  withdrew,  returning  to 
his  tent,  where  Pete  had  prepared  a  break 
fast  that  did  honor  to  his  title  of  Commissary- 
General. 


89] 


CHAPTER  IX 

ON  WITH  THE  DANCE 

WHEN  Kate  returned  home  the  next 
morning  she  found  her  father  in  his 
office,  leaning  back  in  his  big  armchair  smok 
ing  a  fig-stemmed  corn-cob  pipe.  A  young 
man  whose  face  she  could  not  see  was  talking 
to  him.  Black  Pomp  was  sitting  on  the  floor 
making  other  pipes  of  corn-cobs  and  fitting 
them  to  long,  fragrant  fig-stems. 

"Hallo,  hallo!  here  comes  my  Katydid. 
Where  have  you  been,  you  little  runaway? 
Nobody  on  the  plantation  could  tell  me  where 
you  were.  Come,  Lady-bird;  account  for  your 
early  morning  ride.  But  first,  here  is  a  sur 
prise  for  you." 

"How  do  you  do,  Cousin  Kate?"  said  the 
"surprise."  "I  am  so  glad  to  see  you.  But 
you  did  not  expect  me,  did  you?" 

"Garnett!  How  lovely,  lovely  to  see  you 
again!  How  and  when  did  you  come?" 

[90] 


ON    WITH    THE    DANCE 

"We  are  not  so  very  far  away  and  I  asked 
permission  to  run  over.  I  was  so  hungry  for 
a  sight  of  home  folks." 

"How  does  it  go,  Garnett,  dear?  Is  it  very 
terrible?" 

"Yes.  God  only  knows  how  terrible.  But 
I  could  not  bear  not  to  be  among  the  others. 
There  has  never  been  a  war  in  our  country 
without  a  Phillips  in  it  fighting  for  his  flag." 

"The  fight  was  never  for  a  flag,  but  for  an 
idea,"  said  Colonel  Marshall.  "The  old  idea 
still  lives,  sheltered  under  our  new  flag.  A 
sectional  party  elected  a  sectional  President, 
who  declared  war  without  the  authority  of 
Congress  and  invaded  the  sovereign  States, 
whose  only  offense  was  that  they  asserted 
their  right  and  power  to  fight  for  their  own 
Union  under  the  Constitution  which  their 
forefathers  had  made." 

"If  you  and  my  cousin  will  excuse  me  I'll  go 
and  change  my  habit  while  you  discuss  flags, 
but  remember  there  is  but  one  flag  for  me,  the 
Stars  and  Bars,  and  but  one  idea,  freedom." 

Catherine  waved  her  hand  to  them  and 
passed  out  into  the  hall  and  up  the  stairway, 
the  gaze  of  the  young  man  following  her  till 
she  disappeared. 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

"God  bless  the  women!"  chuckled  the  old 
Colonel.  "They  will  save  the  South  in  spite 
of  the  devil.  If  you  only  had  a  sweetheart 
now,  Garnett,  —  a  true  and  patriotic  Southern 
girl  like  your  cousin." 

Garnett  looked  over  the  head  of  Pomp  and 
across  a  sun-bathed  slope  hedged  by  a  dark 
belt  of  woods.  He  did  not  see  the  trees  nor 
the  slope  nor  the  sun.  He  saw  only  a  radi 
ant  face  with  a  dazzle  of  deep  eyes,  —  the 
same  eyes  that  had  smiled  back  at  him  as 
Catherine  went  up  the  stairway. 

"Here  is  a  rosebud  for  each  of  you,"  said 
Kate,  returning  with  a  Jacqueminot  pinned 
at  the  throat  of  her  white  dress  and  two  buds 
in  her  hand.  "Guess  what  is  in  store  for  you, 
Cousin;  I  am  going  to  take  you  to  Nannie 
Wickham's  ball  to-night." 

"Could  you  get  an  invitation  for  me  at 
this  late  hour?" 

"Invitation?  They  would  tear  my  hair 
out  if  I  did  not  bring  you.  How  delightful 
to  dance  with  the  dear  soldiers  who  come  in 
their  uniforms  and  look,  —  oh,  so  handsome ! 
Just  as  you  do,"  curtseying  elaborately.  "The 
uniforms  may  be  somewhat  dingy  from  hard 
wear,  to  be  sure,  but  nothing  can  keep  a  Con- 

[92] 


ON    WITH    THE    DANCE 

federate  soldier  from  being  beautiful,   and  - 
well,  there  never  were  such  dancers  anywhere 
else  in  the  whole  world." 

"I  didn't  know  any  but  our  crowd  were 
within  a  day's  march." 

"Yes;  one  of  the  regiments  is  camped  down 
in  the  glen  for  the  night  on  the  way  to  join 
Pickett's  Division.  The  ball  is  given  for  them. 
All  we  are  afraid  of  is  that  the  Yankees 
will  find  it  out,  but  I  don't  think  they  will. 
They've  sent  too  many  men  north  to  take 
any  risks.  Usually  we  have  dry  bread  balls, 
but  Ung  Lige  found  a  bee-tree  today  and 
brought  home  a  great  pan  of  honey  and  we 
are  to  have  a  honey-pulling  to-night." 

"How  delightful!  And  you  are  to  wear 
a  white  dress  and  a  red  rose?" 

"Of  course;   they  are  my  colors." 

"They  are  my  colors,  too." 

That  evening  he  was  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
when  Kate  came  down  looking  like  a  white 
cloud  floating  against  a  dun-gray  curtain  of 
space.  At  the  belt  of  her  soft  white  dress 
was  massed  a  cluster  of  Giant  of  Battle  roses. 

"What  wondrous  draperies  you  war-time 
maidens  wear." 

"This  robe  belonged   to  one  of  my  grand- 

[93] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

mothers  away  back  in  the  centuries.  She 
wore  it  at  a  ball  in  the  court  of  Louis  the  Superb 
and  danced  with  Prince  Conde.  But  the  roses 
bloomed  today  and  belong  to  the  sunshine." 
"The  roses  blossomed  in  the  sunshine  of  your 
presence  and  belong  to  you.  As  for  the  robe, 
I  venture  the  Court  Lady  did  not  look  half  so 
pretty  in  it  as  her  descendant  does." 

"Conde  could  tell  you  better  than  that, 
flatterer,  but  just  you  wait  till  you  see  Nannie 
Wickham.  She  has  a  really  and  truly  new 
dress,  smuggled  through  the  lines.  It  is  a 
dream  and  so  is  she,  and  you  shall  fall  in  love 
with  her." 

"That  is  impossible;   I  have  fallen  in  love." 

"Oh,  but  old  love  affairs  do  not  count." 

The    carriage    rolled    through    the  Southern 

dusk  along  a  dreamful  lane,  and  Kate  chatted 

gaily    with    the    recklessness    of    youth    that 

dances   lightly  on  whether  cannons   boom   or 

doves   of  peace   coo   softly.     Soon   they  were 

at  Nannie's  gate  and  in  a  moment  were  whirled 

away  in  the  light  and  glow  and  laughter  and 

music. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  we  are  dancing  on  the 
rim  of  a  volcano,"  said   Garnett  as  he  walked 
with  Nannie  Wickham  between  dances. 
[94] 


ON    WITH    THE    DANCE 

"Yes;  some  people  have  been  calling  us 
frivolous  and  saying  growly  things  about  our 
dancing  lately,  because  of  the  increasing  anxi 
ety  since  General  Pemberton  has  been  repulsed 
at  Jackson  and  Vicksburg  is  in  danger.  But 
General  Joe  Johnston  is  there  and  everything 
must  come  out  right  where  he  is.  My  old 
mammy  shakes  her  head  when  she  dresses  me 
and  says  she's  'had  signs  an'  we-all  better  be 
havin'  pra'r-meetin's,  steader  dancin'." 

Nannie  stopped  suddenly. 

"What  was  that?  Listen!  Didn't  you  hear 
something?" 

"Yes;  it  sounded  like  the  tramp  of  horses 
and  the  clank  of  steel." 

Hurrying  back  to  the  ball-room  they  ran 
upon  Pomp,  whose  eyes  revolved  in  an  ecstasy 
of  terror  as  he  warningly  cried  out: 

"  Hi-sh.  You-all  — sh  — sh  -  -  sh  -  -  I  tole 
you  so.  Dey's  comin'  -  -  dey's  comin'  -  -  yas 
dey's  jamby  'pon  top  er  we-alls  dis  minute, 
wi'le  we-all's  dancin'  en  frolickin'  -  - 1  done 
tole  you  so!  I  tole  you  so!" 

"Told  us  what?  Who's  coming?"  sternly 
asked  Colonel  Wilmer.  "Stop  your  stammer 
ing  and  speak  out!" 

"De  Yanks,  Marse  Kunnel.  Dey's  outside 
[95] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

dis  minute.  You-all  better  run  er  hide  er  do 
sumpn  'fo'  you  gits  hurt." 

"Lieutenant  Hetherington,  signal  to  camp 
for  the  boys  at  once.  Ladies  to  the  upper 
rooms!  Lights  out!" 

Awed  by  the  Colonel's  commanding  tone, 
the  girls  fled  upstairs.  Pomp  crawled  under 
the  table.  Over  the  dancing  hall  darkness  fell 
and  "Fiddling  Caesar"  stood  with  uplifted 
bow  as  if  petrified  in  "Swing  your  pardners, 
hands  all  round!  " 

"Look!  There  is  a  flag  of  truce,"  said  Nan 
nie.  "They  are  coming  to  summon  us  to 
surrender." 

"We  will  die  first!"  asserted  Catherine 
valiantly. 

"That's  easy  enough  to  talk  about,"  replied 
Nannie  dolorously. 

"Colonel  Dasham  calls  upon  the  Confeder 
ate  officers  within  to  surrender  and  thereby 
save  the  house  from  destruction!"  called  out 
the  bearer  of  the  flag  of  truce. 

"My  compliments  to  Colonel  Dasham  and 
tell  him  that  we  are  much  obliged  but  that  we 
can  protect  the  house  without  his  assistance." 

The  truce  withdrew  and  soon  a  hailstorm 
of  shot  was  heard.  Answering  shots  were 

[96] 


ON    WITH    THE    DANCE 

fired  from  the  windows  and  one  of  the  assail 
ants  fell  and  was  carried  away. 

"Poor  fellow!"  said  Kate,  always  ready  to 
sympathize  with  misfortune.  "I  hope  he  is 
not  hurt  much.  We  have  the  advantage,  you 
see.  We  are  in  the  dark  and  they  in  full 
moonlight." 

"Oh,  me!  they  are  separating  and  some  are 
going  to  the  back  door,"  whispered  Nannie, 
"and,  listen;  the  rest  of  the  boys  are  coming." 

The  men  from  camp  came  swinging  around 
the  curve  and  the  girls  waved  their  hand 
kerchiefs  from  the  window. 

A  shower  of  rifle-balls  greeted  the  attack 
ing  party  and  the  detachment  at  the  rear 
door  joined  their  comrades  in  front.  After 
a  skirmish  they  retreated  to  the  woods,  pur 
sued  by  the  Lieutenant  and  his  men  from 
the  camp  and  followed  by  the  cheers  of  the 
Colonel's  forces,  in  which  the  girls  joined 
heartily. 

"Hurrah,  girls!"  cried  Kate.  "We  have 
won  a  battle." 

"Were  you  frightened?"  asked  Colonel  Wil- 
mer,  coming  up  the  stairway,  followed  by 
Garnett. 

"Frightened?"  replied  Kate.  "It  was  glori- 
[97] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

ous!     But  that  poor  fellow  who  was  shot  — 
where  is  he?" 

"I  don't  think  there  was  much  blood  shed, 
—  at  any  rate,  no  wounded  left  on  the  field/' 

Upon  their  return  to  Magnolia  Lawn  Kate 
and  Garnett  stopped  for  a  moment  upon  the 
veranda  and  looked  out  into  the  moonlight 
where  the  pines  were  black  against  the  silvery 
wall. 

"Why  do  beautiful  things  seem  sad?"  asked 
Kate  as  a  south  wind  swept  up  from  the  river 
and,  lifting  a  branch  of  the  rose-vine,  brushed  it 
across  her  cheek. 

"I  suppose  it  is  because  we  cannot  take  all 
their  beauty  into  eyes  and  heart  at  once. 
There  is  a  reason,  though,  why  all  this" 
stretching  his  arms  out  toward  river  and 
wide  white  space  —  "is  especially  sad  to  me 
to-night,  because  I  must  say  goodbye  —  per 
haps  for  an  even  longer  separation  than 
before." 

"Oh,  I  hope  not,  —  surely  not." 

"I  go  to-night  to  join  Armistead's  Brigade." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry!  No,  I  don't  mean 
that  I  am  sorry,  either  —  I'm  glad.  It  is  just 
what  I  would  have  you  do.  And  then  —  you 
will  see  —  Jasper." 

[98] 


ON  WITH    THE    DANCE 

"Jasper  — Jasper?" 

She  looked  up  shyly. 

"Yes;  didn't  you  know?" 

He  was  silent  for  an  instant,  gazing  out  into 
the  blackness  of  the  pines.  Then  he  said  gently: 

"I  —  I   congratulate  you,   Cousin   mine." 

"I  knew  you  would.  Now  I  want  you  to  do 
something  for  me." 

"Anything,  to  the  extent  of  my  power,  Kate." 

"Jasper  is  so  brave,  so  daring,  so  almost 
reckless,  —  I  want  you  to  make  friends  with 
him  and  guard  him  from  the  dangers  that  he 
will  not  see  —  take  care  of  him  for  me." 

Her  uplifted  face  glowed  with  love  and  en 
treaty,  but  in  his  eyes  was  the  light  of  self- 
abnegation.  He  took  her  hand  and  lifted  it 
to  his  lips. 

"If  my  life  can  purchase  his  it  will  be  freely 
given,  for  your  sake." 

"Thank  you.  Both  lives  will  come  back 
to  make  me  happy." 

"If  God  wills"  he  said  solemnly. 

She  watched  him  ride  down  the  lane,  look 
ing  after  him  until  he  was  hidden  in  the  forest, 
the  winding  empty  road  lying  black  across  the 
moonlight. 


99 


CHAPTER  X 

FROM  THE  FRONT 

KATE  was  reading  a  letter  to  her  father. 

HEADQUARTERS  ARMY  OF  NORTHERN  VIRGINIA 

June  9,  1863. 

"DEAREST  COUSIN  MINE: 

On  the  3d  of  June  we  joined  Longstreet  on 
his  way  to  Culpeper  Courthouse.  Remem 
bering  my  promise  to  you,  the  first  thing  I 
did  after  necessary  preliminaries  was  to  hunt 
up  Colonel  Carrington  and  give  him  your  let 
ter  and  message.  Allow  me  to  congratulate 
you  on  your  good  judgment.  The  Colonel  is 
a  fine  fellow. 

"Longstreet,  the  Apostle,  'Old  Peter,'  as 
the  soldiers  have  nicknamed  him,  seems  to 
have  all  the  attributes  of  a  great  soldier,  —  not 
the  dash  perhaps  of  him  who  fell  at  Chancel- 
lorsville,  but  he  has  care,  caution,  and  bull- 
doggedness,  which  are  equally  necessary,  and 
all  the  country  knows  how  brave  he  is. 
[100] 


FROM    THE    FRXTNT 

"But  the  soldier  who  thrills  me  as  no  other 
can  is  the  Commander  of  our  Division,  Gen 
eral  Pickett.  It  is  an  inspiration  to  see  him 
ride  along  our  lines,  his  wavy,  dark  hair  float 
ing  out  on  the  wind,  the  boys  cheering  as  if 
they  would  never  stop.  He  answers  with  a 
salute,  lifts  his  cap  and,  holding  it  above  his 
head,  rides  on  in  his  courtly  way,  sitting  his 
horse  as  I  used  to  fancy  King  Arthur  did,  in 
the  days  when  we  read  of  him  together,  you 
and  I,  in  our  poetry  books. 

"I  had  pictured  him  to  myself  as  very  tall, 
but  he  is  of  medium  height  and  looks  tall 
because  he  is  perfectly  formed  and  carries  him 
self  erectly.  I  supposed  that  he  had  a  great 
voice  which  sounded  as  if  it  might  come  from 
the  depths  of  the  earth,  but  his  tones  are  soft 
and  musical.  He  looks  young  to  have  been 
before  the  cannon's  mouth  for  seventeen  years. 
People  who  know  him  well  say  that  he  is  equally 
at  home  in  storming  a  height  and  in  playing 
the  guitar  and  singing  a  serenade  to  his  lady 
love.  One  of  his  staff  officers  said  that  when  a 
friend  of  our  General  was  going  North  and 
asked  what  he  should  bring  for  him,  he  replied, 
'A  bottle  of  heliotrope  and  a  bottle  of  new- 
mown  hay.'  To  a  rugged  chap  like  me  that 

[101] 


( •  fc     ,  »•»•>-*»«« 

:  v      ,  v  |/::J 

THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

might  sound  a  little  dandyish  if  I  did  not  know 
that  the  next  day  at  the  head  of  his  men,  with 
his  right  arm  hanging  helpless  and  his  left 
waving  his  sword,  he  dashed  up  a  hill  blazing 
with  cannon  and  won  the  fight. 

"General  Scott  said:  —  'Generals  nowa 
days  can  be  made  out  of  anything,  but  good 
men  are  hard  to  get/  Are  not  we  fortunate 
in  having  so  good  a  man  in  a  General? 

"  Yesterday  General  Lee  reviewed  Stuart's 
cavalry.  They  say  it  was  a  brilliant  sight. 
The  Red  Fox,  as  they  call  Stuart,  because  he 
is  a  rosy  blonde  and  because  he  has  a  light 
and  foxy  way  of  scampering  across  country, 
has  the  best  riders  in  the  world  and  people 
say  that  he  is  the  finest  cavalry  leader  any 
where.  He  is  the  most  unexpected  man  in 
the  Confederacy.  He  appears  and  disappears 
as  if  moved  by  electric  wires.  The  enemy 
lays  the  deepest  traps  for  him  and  finds  when 
the  time  comes  to  spring  them  that  he  has 
vanished.  Then  he  suddenly  darts  out  in  an 
other  place  so  far  away  that  it  would  seem 
that  his  horse  must  wear  seven-league  shoes. 
He  doubles  and  curves  in  such  a  wonderful 
way  that  nobody  can  ever  imagine  where  he 
will  be  next.  As  a  means  of  developing  alert 

[102] 


FROM    THE    FRONT 

mental  action  in  his  soldiery  the  General  of 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac  has  taken  to  offer 
ing  prizes  for  the  best  conjecture  as  to  where 
Stuart  will  appear.  So,  at  least,  I  was  told 
by  a  jovial  Yankee  who  kept  company  with 
us  until  he  eloped  with  the  Captain's  horse 
one  night  in  a  moment  of  inadvertence  on  the 
part  of  the  gentleman  who  had  been  appointed 
to  see  that  he  had  a  good  time. 

"We  have  come  to  the  end  of  a  long  day's 
march  and  have  gone  into  camp  to  spend  a 
rainy  night.  A  Lieutenant  who  pursues  war 
as  a  pastime  and  music  as  a  business  is  singing 
'Oh,  Susannah,  don't  you  cry  for  me/  and  ac 
companying  himself  on  the  banjo.  Two  others 
are  exchanging  reminiscences  of  Chancellors- 
ville  and  incidentally  breaking  forth  uproar 
iously  into  Stuart's  lyric,  'Old  Joe  Hooker, 
come  out  of  the  wilderness.'  A  game  of  cards 
is  progressing  in  a  lively  manner  and  my 
train  of  thought  is  now  and  then  thrown  off 
the  track  by  shrieks  of  joy  from  one  side  and 
howls  of  despair  from  the  other.  Two  enthu 
siastic  military  students  are  laying  out  a  plan 
of  battle  and  every  few  moments  falling  into 
what  promises  to  be  mortal  combat  over  a 
disputed  fortification.  The  beauty  of  my 
[103] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

chirography  is  due  to  the  fact  that  I  am  seated 
on  a  camp-chair,  holding  my  paper  on  my  knee 
and  writing  with  a  pen  the  point  of  which  has 
acquired  an  upward  curve  from  hard  usage, 
the  whole  scene  being  illuminated  by  a  tallow 
candle  in  frequent  need  of  being  snuffed. 

"I  am  not  likely  soon  again  to  strike  such 
favorable  circumstances  for  collecting  and 
transcribing  my  thoughts,  but  you  must  not 
allow  that  fact  to  curtail  my  supply  of  letters 
from  home.  You  don't  know  how  hungry  a 
fellow  is  for  the  sound  of  a  sweet  home  voice 
and  the  sight  of  a  dear  home  face  and  the 
touch  of  a  tender  home  hand. 

"I  have  had  a  letter  from  my  mother, — 
poor  dear  little  mother.  Torn  by  divided 
affections  and  anxious  about  so  many  sorrow 
ful  and  perilous  things,  I  think  of  her  with 
sadness  that  grows  heavier  each  day.  I  wish 
that  you  could  go  to  her  or  that  she  might 
come  to  you,  but  I  suppose  that  is  hardly 
possible.  So  all  you  can  do  is  to  seize  upon 
every  opportunity  of  writing  a  sweet  and 
comforting  letter  to  her  and  one  sometimes, 
too,  to  your 

"CousiN  GARNETT." 


104 


FROM    THE    FRONT 

As  Kate  finished  the  letter,  she  looked  up 
wistfully  at  her  father  and  said : 

"Oh,  father,  if  I  had  only  been  a  boy!" 

"Thank  the  Lord  that  you  are  not  a  boy, 
my  daughter." 

"Do  you  love  me  better  as  I  am,  Papa, 
dear?"  ' 

"If  you  were  my  son  instead  of  my  daugh 
ter,  even  loved  as  you  are  now,  I  should  give 
you  up  though  it  were  to  death." 


[105 


CHAPTER  XI 

WAITING 

THE  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  was  on  the 
road  to  Chambersburg.     The  march  was 
necessarily  slow,  for  not  even  the  Commander- 
in-Chief  had    any   information    regarding    the 
Federal  movements. 

Colonel    Carrington    had    sent    for    Garnett 
and  they  were  side  by  side. 

"There  is  something  I  intended  to  tell  you," 
Garnett  said,  "about  that  Campo  fellow,  who 
manages  to  keep  himself  tangled  up  with  us 
in  the  most  incomprehensible  way.  I  did  not 
tell  you  of  the  first  time.  It  was  when  I  had 
been  mistaken  for  you  and  put  into  a  prison- 
house  to  wait  for  him  to  pass  upon  my  identity. 
The  next  time  was  that  day  in  the  skir 
mish  as  we  crossed  the  line;  he  tried  to  stick 
a  sword  into  you.  I  thank  God  I  was  a  shade 
too  quick  for  him  and  he  disappeared  just  as 
you  downed  that  Yankee  Captain." 
[106] 


WAITING 

"He  is  the  meanest  kind  of  a  scoundrel 
and  coward,"  said  Jasper.  "Thanks  to  your 
friendly  offices,  he  gives  you  more  trouble 
than  he  does  me,  for  which  I  am  sorry.  But 
I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for  staying  his 
murderous  hand." 

They  passed  by  fields  in  which  the  ripening 
grain  promised  a  veritable  harvest  of  gold. 
Garnett  thought  of  the  desolate  waste  through 
which  he  had  marched  in  Virginia.  The  fields 
were  there,  ready  to  yield  their  treasures  to 
the  skilful  touch.  But  the  tillers  were  gone 
and  there  was  no  hand  stretched  out  to  help 
those  barren  acres  to  blossom  forth  and  fulfil 
their  hospitable  mission. 

The  orchards,  in  which  the  burdened  branches 
almost  touched  the  ground  with  the  weight  of 
their  fruitage,  reminded  Garnett  of  an  orchard 
where  in  boyhood  he  gathered  apples,  red  and 
golden.  On  the  road  to  Maryland  he  had 
seen  it  again.  It  was  an  old  battlefield  now 
and  the  fire-scarred  trees  stretched  their  ghostly 
gray  arms  to  the  sky  as  if  asking  the  vengeance 
of  heaven  on  the  wickedness  of  man. 

In  this  fair  and  prosperous  land  homelike 
dwellings  nestled  away  in  the  greenery  of 
beautiful  trees  and  looked  bewitchingly  out 
[107] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

from  their  leafy  bowers.  In  Virginia  the 
Army  had  passed  by  piles  of  ashes  where  in 
the  olden  days  stately  homes  had  given  Gar- 
nett  loving  welcome,  by  lonely  deserted  houses 
that  had  once  been  sunny  and  bright.  As 
they  were  passing  one  of  these  mansions  an 
old  negro  hobbled  out  to  greet  Garnett. 

"Wait,  Marse  Garnett,  drap  out  ef  you  kin. 
I've  been  waitin*  fer  you.  I  knowed  some 
er  de  ole  time  folks  what  used  ter  visit  we-all 
'ud  be  comin'  th'oo  somewhar  wid  de  army 
en  IJs  been  watchin'  en  watchin'  wheneber 
dey'd  be  a  marchin'  by.  Fs  de  onlyes'  one 
leP  on  de  ole  place  now  en  I  ain'  got  nuttin' 
'tall  ter  fetch  you  sepn  some  roas'  'taters  en 
a  piece  er  ole  hyar  I  cotch  in  de  woods  yistidy 
en  cooked." 

The  tears  sprang  to  Garnett's  eyes.  Only 
an  old  servant  with  his  love-gift  left  to  greet 
him. 

Now  along  the  road  bordered  with  plenty 
they  came  to  Chambersburg,  where  there  was 
none  to  give  them  welcome  or  even  a  passing 
word.  They  marched  quietly  through  the 
town,  their  band  silent,  for  the  order  was  that 
no  music  should  be  played  lest  it  might  offend 
the  citizens.  Through  an  almost  deserted 
[108] 


WAITING 

street  between  rows  of  closed  houses  they  went 
till  they  were  near  the  limits  of  the  town. 
Here  several  girls  who  had  been  drawn  by 
curiosity  to  the  veranda  of  a  cottage  asked  for 
some  music  and  were  greeted  with  "The  girl 
I  left  behind  me,"  "Home,  sweet  Home,"  and 
"Auld  lang  syne."  But  these  non-committal 
strains  were  not  their  idea  of  Southern  music, 
and  they  called  for  "Dixie."  They  were 
answered  by  the  gentle  notes  of  "Her  bright 
smile  haunts  me  still,"  and  the  Division 
marched  on  to  camp. 

The  men  carried  away  pleasant  memories 
of  the  little  town  among  the  hills,  for  the 
dwellers  therein  did  not  long  resist  the  cour 
tesy  and  kindness  of  the  Confederate  leader 
and  when  marching  orders  came  many  a  word 
of  good-will  followed  the  Southern  soldiers  to 
Gettysburg. 

Hands  of  the  dead,  far-away  hands  of  the 
living,  dream  hands  that  dwelt  but  in  imagi 
nation,  all  seemed  stretched  forth  to  Garnett 
and  Jasper  as  the  old  Division  marched  through 
the  woods  in  which  they  had  halted  to  await 
the  morning  summons  to  the  field.  Faces 
looked  out  at  them  from  behind  the  trees,  — 
faces  shrined  in  their  hearts  by  memory,  faces 
[109] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

hovering  mistily  on  the  far  horizon  of  their 
fancy.  Was  there  ever  so  ghostly  a  wood  as 
this  that  lay  between  their  night's  bivouac 
and  the  fighting  line  at  Gettysburg?  Only 
the  rustling  of  feet  upon  the  grass  broke  the 
stillness.  Yet  was  the  silence  full  of  sound 
—  whispers  of  voices  and  the  echoes  of  yester 
day's  guns  thrilling  on  the  air. 

When  they  passed  through  the  line  of  woods 
fringing  Seminary  Ridge,  morning  yet  waited 
behind  the  hills.  The  men  lay  in  the  long 
grass  and  the  trees  kept  guard  around  them. 
The  weary  soldiers  held  the  attitudes  into 
which  they  had  thrown  themselves  as  if  they 
might  have  been  stone  figures  cast  aside  by 
an  impatient  sculptor.  Some  fell  asleep. 
Others  waited  grimly  for  the  dawn,  —  the 
strangest  dawn  that  ever  gloomed  into  their 
lives. 

Garnett,  resting  on  his  elbow,  looked  toward 
the  east  where  a  ridge  slightly  overtopped  the 
ground  on  which  he  lay.  What  was  between 
his  fancy  could  not  show.  How  the  day  had 
gone  he  did  not  know.  No  tidings  had  come 
from  the  battle  except  the  dull  echoes  of  the 
guns  that  had  shivered  the  air  on  the  road 
from  Chambersburg. 

[no] 


WAITING 

The  crash  of  Gary's  pistol  broke  the  still 
ness  and  sent  echoes  reverberating  among  the 
hills.  Day  was  ushered  in  with  the  ominous 
greeting  which  befitted  its  awful  destiny. 

Some  of  the  men,  aroused  from  their  half 
slumbers,  looked  in  the  direction  from  which 
the  sound  came.  A  quiver  as  of  a  suddenly 
awakened  force  ready  for  combat  thrilled 
through  Garnett's  veins.  The  man  who  had 
been  at  Antietam  lay  quiet.  He  was  still 
asleep. 

A  deeper  silence  fell  over  the  ridge,  —  a 
stillness  that  stretched  out  in  awesome  gloom 
to  the  sky  and  reached  down  to  earth. 

After  what  seemed  to  Garnett  a  soundless 
eternity  the  silence  was  broken  by  the  tread 
of  horses  coming  down  the  line.  In  the  shim 
mer  of  dawn  he  could  see  the  faces  of  the 
riders  and  the  color  of  their  horses  as  they  rode 
along. 

Every  man  in  the  Army  knew  the  powerful 
gray  that  carried  the  Commander.  He  and 
his  rider  were  one,  so  closely  were  they  iden 
tified  with  all  the  exploits  of  the  Army  of  the 
South.  Garnett  never  saw  that  stately  figure 
mounted  on  "Traveler"  without  a  glow  of 
pride. 

[in] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

Beside  him  was  a  taller,  heavier  man,  he  who 
bore  worthily  the  title  of  "Old  War  Horse," 
affectionately  bestowed  upon  him  by  the 
Commanding  General. 

Garnett's  glance  swept  over  these  two  fig 
ures  and  centered  on  the  third  of  the  group, 
wondering,  as  he  had  many  times,  wherein 
lay  the  power  of  that  man.  Smaller  than  the 
two  with  whom  he  rode,  slight,  delicately 
formed,  he  was  in  strong  contrast  to  his  com 
panions.  He  sat  his  horse  with  the  grace  of 
one  who  rides  to  win  a  guerdon  from  the  hand 
of  beauty  rather  than  to  meet  the  foe  in  deadly 
conflict.  His  face  was  almost  womanly  fair 
and  his  soft  dark  hair  swept  backward  in  the 
morning  wind  like  the  hair  Garnett  remembered 
in  a  picture  at  Magnolia  Lawn  of  a  minstrel 
who  sang  of  the  past  in  the  ancient  halls  of 
his  ancestors.  Were  ever  grace  and  delicacy 
so  opposed  to  the  rude  idea  of  war  as  in  his 
person  and  life  history?  Yet  men  went  down 
into  the  infernal  pit  of  battle  and  were  drowned 
in  seas  of  fire  for  love  of  him  and  the  glory  of 
following  where  he  led. 

Having  been  strictly  enjoined  to  silence, 
the  men  dared  not  cheer.  They  arose  and 
stood  reverently  with  bared  heads  as  the  horse- 

[112] 


WAITING 

men  rode  down  the  line  in  silent  review,  —  the 
last  death  review,  —  and  every  eye  of  the  long 
line  was  on  the  slender  man  who  rode  the  black 
charger  and  held  his  cap  lifted  above  his  head. 
Thus  they  watched  their  leader  till  the  shadows 
hid  him  from  view. 

In  the  grass  in  front  of  the  forest  line  they 
lay  through  hours  of  beating  sun.  There  were 
no  sleepers  now.  Each  man  was  awake  to 
the  heat  that  poured  upon  him  as  from  a  burn 
ing  cauldron.  Occasionally  one  moved  rest 
lessly.  Now  and  then  there  was  a  whisper  to 
a  comrade. 

"The  Baby,"  the  youngest  soldier  in  the 
regiment,  crept  close  to  Garnett  and  held  his 
hand.  His  yellow  curls  were  matted  damply 
over  his  head.  In  his  eyes  were  depths  of 
unspoken  sadness. 

"I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me,  for, 
somehow,  I  feel  that  I  shall  not  live  out  this 
day." 

"Nonsense,  boy,  nonsense.  You  will  live 
to  be  gray-bearded,  and  some  day  you  will 
hold  your  grandchildren  on  your  knee  and  tell 
them  of  how  we  won  a  glorious  victory  and 
saved  our  Southland." 

The  boy  shook  his  head  sadly. 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

"Men  in  our  way  of  life  sometimes  know; 
there  is  something  in  their  hearts  that  tells 
them." 

"Brace  up,  my  boy;  brace  up.  We  all 
have  a  feeling  of  that  kind  in  the  presence  of 
a  great  danger.  We  come  up  out  of  the  con 
flict  with  hearts  stronger  because  of  the  trial 
and  lives  better  for  the  victory." 

"I  don't  know  what  it  is,  but  I  feel  that  my 
heart  will  be  stilled  in  this  battle,  and  when 
you  march  back  to  the  Capital  of  our  new 
Nation  won't  you  find  my  mother  and  tell 
her  about  me  and  give  her  this  letter?  Oh, 
tell  her  how  dearly  I  love  her  and  that  the 
proudest  thing  in  her  boy's  life  is  in  trying  to 
be  worthy  of  her  and  in  giving  the  life  she  gave 
him  to  his  country." 

"I'll  take  the  letter,  of  course,  boy,  but  sup 
pose  I  should  still  keep  you  company  at  the 
end  of  the  day?" 

There  was  a  long  silence  and  then  the  man 
who  had  been  at  Antietam  turned  over  and 
growled : 

"By  George,  fellows,  I  say,  this  makes  me 
think  of  what  Tom  August  said  to  Squire 
Minturn." 

"What's  that?"  asked  the  man  next  him. 
[114! 


WAITING 

"You  know  the  Squire  puts  on  as  many  airs 
as  if  he'd  swallowed  a  hurricane  and  it  was 
breaking  out  on  him.  He  met  Tom  and  said 
in  his  swell  way,  'Well,  sir,  I  suppose  your 
voice  is  still  for  war!'  And  Tom  said,  'Yes, 
Squire,  devilish  still." 


CHAPTER  XII 

"THE   BATTLE'S  VAN" 

The  fittest  place  where  man  can  die 
Is  where  he  dies  for  man. 

A  CANNON-SHOT  shivered  the  awful 
silence.  While  it  echoed  from  the  hills 
another  shot  thundered  out  and  a  cloud  of 
smoke  hung  over  the  plain.  Then  came  a 
crash  of  artillery  and  between  the  two  ridges 
was  a  blazing  sea  over  which  a  heavy  curtain 
of  smoke  waved  and  tossed  tumultuously  like  a 
wrack  of  storm-clouds  in  a  raging  wind.  The 
hills  trembled  with  the  roar  of  battle.  It 
was  as  if  warring  worlds  had  rushed  together 
in  one  stupendous  conflict.  Through  a  roll 
ing  ocean  of  smoke  and  dust  flaming  arrows 
darted  across  the  field. 

"Them  pesky  things  allus  'pears  to  be  aimin' 
straight  at  a  feller's  eyes,"  grumbled  one  of 
Armistead's  men,  blinking  as  a  burning  shell 
swept  past  him. 

[116] 


'THE    BATTLE'S    VAN" 

A  man  who  was  lying  near  leaped  suddenly 
forward  and  fell,  his  blood  spattering  on  Gar- 
nett's  sleeve.  The  shriek  of  a  shell  hurtled 
by  and  a  little  distance  from  him  he  saw  the 
earth  torn  up  and  heard  the  dying  groans  of 
comrades.  Even  in  the  mighty  uproar,  look 
ing  upon  the  fire  and  smoke  of  the  most  terrific 
cannonading  the  world  ever  knew,  Garnett 
pitied  those  who  had  fallen  at  the  threshold 
of  the  battle,  —  who  could  never  go  down  into 
that  sea  of  surging  flame  and  wind-tossed  smoke 
and  charge  the  fire-crested  heights. 

On  a  hill  overlooking  the  valley  was  the 
stately  form  of  the  Commander  on  his  power 
ful  gray  horse.  He  turned  to  Pickett,  mounted 
by  his  side,  and  pointed  to  a  clump  of  trees 
flanked  by  a  glittering  array  of  artillery  and 
infantry  on  the  ridge  opposite. 

"General,  can  you  take  that  height ?" 

"I  can,  sir,  if  it  can  be  taken." 

While  the  roar  of  the  cannon  filled  the  val 
ley  and  fiery  fuses  were  still  darting  through 
the  blackness,  General  Pickett  came  down 
the  line.  The  men  sprang  to  their  feet  and 
saluted  as  he,  pointing  to  the  flame-crowned 
hill,  explained  what  they  were  to  do.  Cheer 
after  cheer  followed  him. 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

Jasper's  head  was  uncovered  and  a  light 
wind  blew  his  hair  back  as  Garnett  looked  at 
him  leading  his  regiment,  and  across  the  dis 
tance  heard  a  sweet  voice  say: 

"Take  care  of  him  for  me,  —  take  care  of 
him  in  camp  and  on  field!" 

"I  promise!"  he  had  said  with  all  the  solem 
nity  with  which  he  would  have  made  a  vow  to 
his  Creator. 

His  pledge  to  the  woman  he  loved  came 
back  to  him  with  the  touch  of  the  south  wind 
and  he  renewed  the  promise  in  his  heart  to 
guard  with  his  own  life  the  man  who  was  dear 
to  her.  What,  after  all,  was  his  life  in  com 
parison  with  the  happiness  of  her  loving  heart  ? 

A  stray  shell  from  the  opposite  ridge  struck 
down  a  soldier  at  Garnett's  side.  "The  Baby" 
moved  quietly  in  and  the  line  was  unbroken. 
The  boy  looked  up  and  smiled  as  a  child  might 
have  looked  at  his  protector.  Garnett  took 
his  hand  and  pressed  it  affectionately.  It 
seemed  a  mournful  prophecy  that  death  should 
have  placed  them  side  by  side  as  they  were 
about  to  march  down  the  fatal  slope. 

The  soldier  in  front  of  him  turned  to  a  com 
rade  and  said: 

"We  are  to  charge  that  height?" 
[118] 


"THE    BATTLE'S    VAN" 

"Yes." 

Fixing  his  gaze  southward  he  said,  "Then 
this  will  be  a  sad  day  for  Virginia,"  and  stretch 
ing  out  his  arms  he  called  out  solemnly,  — ' 
Goodbye,  Virginia!"  He  thought  of  the  little 
cottage  nestling  away  in  the  Blue  Ridge  in  that 
beloved  old  State  which  bounded  the  dreams  of 
his  youth  and  the  memories  of  his  manhood. 

"Goodbye!"  surged  through  the  heart  of 
Garnett,  and  a  radiance  of  dark  eyes  and  a 
swaying  of  a  slim  young  form  draped  in  white, 
with  a  crimson  Jacqueminot  at  the  throat, 
was  the  vision  that  passed  before  his  eyes  as 
he  shut  them  to  the  smoke-wreathed  valley 
and  the  fiery  height. 

The  gaze  of  Jasper  was  directed  straight 
forward  to  the  forest  of  guns  on  the  hill  in 
front.  Garnett  could  see  only  the  set  pose 
of  the  head  with  its  stern  unwavering  lines. 
Maybe  that  was  why  all  things  came  to  Jas 
per.  Was  the  same  farewell  echoing  sorrow 
fully  in  his  heart?  Or  was  he  intent  only  upon 
scaling  that  deadly  wall  beyond? 

Garnett  watched  the  graceful  form  on  the 
black  charger  as  their  leader  took  his  place 
at  their  head,  his  long  dark  hair  floating  back 
in  the  wind. 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

"Forward!" 

Pickett's  men  started  on  their  death-march. 
They  moved  out  from  the  forest  calmly  and 
steadily  as  if  drawn  up  for  a  grand  review. 
Two  great  armies  watched  them  in  admiring 
awe.  Over  on  Seminary  Hill  the  man  on  the 
gray  horse  looked  on  at  the  costly  sacrifice 
the  South  was  making  for  its  cause.  On  Cem 
etery  Height  the  men  in  blue  were  silent, 
watching  the  majestic  scene. 

The  rhythmic  motion  of  the  thousands  of 
tramping  feet  had  so  taken  possession  of 
Garnett's  imagination  that  he  seemed  to  have 
been  for  ages  walking  in  that  solemn  proces 
sion.  The  resounding  tramp,  tramp,  tramp 
filled  all  the  world. 

Garnett's  gaze  was  fixed  on  the  Commander 
far  away  in  front,  leading  his  men  into  the 
flames  of  battle  with  an  air  of  chivalrous  light 
ness  and  grace  such  as  he  might  have  worn  had 
he  led  them  in  picturesque  procession  to  enliven 
a  festal  day.  He  marveled  over  the  daring  that 
could  enable  a  man  to  maintain  a  poise  like 
that  at  the  open  door  of  death.  He  thought  of 
what  he  had  heard  a  commanding  officer  say: 

"Give  George  Pickett  an  order  and  he  will 
storm  the  gates  of  hell." 

[120] 


"THE    BATTLE'S    VAN' 

By  the  silent  batteries  the  "Old  War  Horse" 
stood  with  General  Alexander,  of  the  Artillery, 
looking  with  grave  face  at  the  long  lines  mov 
ing  toward  the  smoke-shrouded  valley.  As 
they  filed  by  he  acknowledged  with  a  gesture 
the  salutation  of  the  officers, 

At  the  crest  a  deadly  roar  and  blinding  flash 
from  the  guns  across  the  valley  met  them. 
All  around  men  were  falling,  but  Garnett  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  gallant  figure  in  front 
and  followed.  The  vacant  places  were  filled 
and  the  line  passed  on  down  the  slope  into 
open  ground  through  the  storm  of  balls  and 
shells  raining  from  Cemetery  Height. 

As  the  smoke  lifted,  the  sad  and  silent  man 
standing  by  the  batteries  saw  the  solid  ranks 
moving  steadily  on  in  symphonic  rhythm, 
their  guns  flashing  in  the  sun. 

"Wright  says  it  is  not  so  hard  to  go  there," 
said  the  Artillery  Commander.  "  He  was  nearly 
there  with  his  brigade  yesterday.  The  diffi 
culty  is  to  stay  there." 

General  Longstreet  looked  across  at  the  dark 
lines  of  men  and  guns  on  the  opposite  ridge. 

"Yes,  yes,  that  is  the  difficulty,"  he  said. 

But  the  guns?  Garnett  had  looked  at  them 
with  pride  and  confidence  as  he  passed.  When 

[121] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

their  bulldog  voices  sounded  across  the  valley 
they  might  serve  as  the  overture  to  a  sym 
phony  of  triumph. 

The  guns!  That  was  the  anxious  thought 
of  the  Corps  Commander  as  his  gaze  followed 
the  men  on  their  descent  into  the  valley  of 
death.  He  knew  why  the  guns  by  which  he 
stood  were  silent  as  they  sullenly  looked  down 
upon  a  movement  which  they  could  not  sup 
port. 

"Stop  Pickett  and  replenish  the  ammuni 
tion,"  he  said  to  the  Artillery  Commander. 

"We  can't  do  that,  sir,"  was  the  mournful 
reply.  "It  would  take  an  hour  to  distribute 
it  and  meanwhile  the  enemy  would  improve 
the  time." 

Longstreet  turned  from  the  silent  guns  to 
acknowledge  the  salute  of  a  tall  officer  who 
was  leading  his  brigade  down  the  fatal  slope. 
With  a  start  of  surprise  he  recognized  General 
Garnett,  who  for  days  had  been  following  the 
army  in  an  ambulance.  He  had  made  his 
attendants  lift  him  to  the  saddle  and  fasten 
him  there  that  he  might  lead  his  men  to  the 
glorious  death  that  blazed  before  his  vision. 

General  Alexander's  heart  leaped  at  the  sight 
of  the  friend  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  months, 

[122] 


'THE    BATTLE'S    VAN'; 

and  following  its  promptings  he  went  down 
the  line  and  joined  General  Garnett  and  rode 
side  by  side  with  him  to  the  rim  of  the  slope. 
There  he  paused  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Goodbye,  and  good  luck  to  you,  old  man/' 
he  said. 

"A  soldier's  luck,"  returned  General  Gar 
nett  with  serene  uplifted  gaze,  as  if  even  then 
he  felt  the  outrushing  tide  of  life-blood  which 
would  on  that  day  wash  away  the  fiery  letters 
in  which  "Kernstown"  had  been  graven  upon 
his  valiant  heart. 

The  line  reached  open  ground  under  a  storm 
of  balls  from  Cemetery  Ridge.  The  gaps  the 
guns  had  made  in  the  ranks  filled  up  and  the 
solid,  living  wall  went  forward  as  if  the  dead 
that  covered  the  ground  like  the  fallen  leaves 
of  autumn  had  added  the  impulse  of  their 
own  lives  to  the  strength  of  their  comrades. 

A  long  blue  line  sprang  suddenly  up  from  the 
grass  which  had  hidden  it  from  view,  fired  and 
ran  on,  loading  and  turning  to  shoot  again. 
The  battle-flag  in  front  of  Garnett  fell.  Before 
it  reached  the  ground  he  took  it  from  the  hand 
of  the  "  Baby,"  who  looked  a  last  farewell  and 
faintly  whispered  "Remember."  Again  the 
ranks  closed  up  and  went  on  unfalteringly. 
[123] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

As  Garnett  caught  the  flag  one  of  his  com 
rades  sprang  forward  with  the  same  design. 
He  looked  around  and  saw  the  smoke-black 
ened  face  of  the  man  who  had  bade  farewell 
to  Virginia.  Garnett  passed  the  flag  to  him 
and  they  went  on  together. 

"Left  oblique!" 

Swiftly  and  steadily  they  obeyed  while  a 
deafening  roar  filled  the  valley  and  a  rain  of 
balls  swept  down  from  the  cannon  in  front  of 
them.  Again  were  the  wide  gaps  filled  as 
were  never  such  gaps  of  horror  filled  in  the 
long  story  of  warfare. 

"Front  forward!" 

Straight  down  upon  the  center  now  —  on! 
—  on  !  —  the  glory  of  the  battle  sweeping 
around  them,  enfolding  them  in  a  mantle  of 
flame,  urging  them  forward  with  exultant 
feet  and  hearts  on  fire. 

"Forward!     Quick  march!" 

Where  the  balls  fell  thickest  and  the  fire 
seemed  to  center  in  a  condensed  heart  of  flame 
Garnett  saw  the  horseman  on  whom  his  eyes 
were  fixed  pause  and  look  over  the  field.  Like 
a  statue  he  sat  while  a  leaden  hail  showered 
around  him.  With  his  comrades  Garnett 
rushed  by. 


'THE    BATTLE'S    VAN' 

Over  the  fence  that  crossed  the  field  they 
leaped,  the  line  breaking  at  the  moment  of 
clearing,  but  instantly  at  command  reforming 
under  a  fiery  storm  from  the  batteries  on  the 
heights  amid  the  explosion  of  shells  that  filled 
the  air  while  the  cries  of  the  wounded  and 
dying  pierced  their  hearts. 

"Faster,  men!  Faster!"  they  heard  above 
the  roar  of  the  guns  and  the  tramp  of  the 
feet.  Then  the  voice  fell  on  silence.  Gen 
eral  Garnett  was  dead. 

"Come  on,  boys!"  shouted  another  voice 
and  a  sword  flashed  high  in  the  sun,  a  hat 
borne  upon  its  point.  The  tall,  rugged  man 
who  carried  it  aloft  pointed  to  the  blazing  hill 
and  urged  the  men  forward,  his  own  daring 
furnishing  a  magnet  that  was  irresistible. 

The  leader  on  the  black  war-horse  stopped  on 
the  highroad  that  crossed  the  field  and  sat  like 
a  figure  of  stone,  the  battle  hot  around  him.  A 
staff  officer  came  back  from  carrying  an  order. 

"You  are  losing  your  spurs,  Captain  Bright, 
instead  of  winning  them,"  said  the  General. 

Captain    Bright  followed   the  glance  of  his 

leader  and   saw  that  his  spur  had  been  shot 

through  and  was  hanging  from  his  boot.     The 

General  calmly  viewed  the  scene,  his  keen  eye 

[125] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

taking  in  every  movement.  The  men  rushed 
by  and  Garnett  thrilled  with  ardor  as  he  saw 
the  motionless,  erect  figure  under  the  falling 
shot  and  bursting  shells. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  line  a  man  in  blue 
lifted  his  rifle  and  took  careful  aim  at  the  form 
standing  out  so  boldly  against  the  light.  Then 
he  lowered  his  gun  and  turned  back.  Three 
of  his  comrades  were  putting  down  their  guns. 
"We  can't  kill  a  man  as  brave  as  that,"  they 
said. 

Over  on  the  right  a  gleam  of  bayonets  and  a 
fire  of  musketry  blazed  into  the  faces  of  the 
little  band.  It  reeled  and  fell  back,  then  ral 
lied  and  pressed  on,  and  the  two  opposing 
forces  were  intermingled,  their  muskets  cross 
ing  in  fierce  combat.  Jasper,  dismounted, 
was  in  front  of  Garnett,  resisting  the  onslaught 
of  a  tall,  dark  man. 

"The  Raven!"  thought  Garnett. 

He  thrust  his  sword  into  the  heart  of  Jas 
per's  assailant,  who  fell  and  was  trampled 
under  many  feet  struggling  toward  the  height. 

The  man  who  bore  the  flag  fell  and  Garnett 
would  have  stopped  to  aid  him. 

"Don't  mind  me,"  said  the  wounded  man. 
"Carry  the  flag  to  the  front." 
[126] 


"THE    BATTLE'S   VAN" 

A  horse  came  dashing  by  and  the  fallen  man 
caught  his  bridle. 

"Like  Kendall,  I  can  be  a  hitching  post," 
he  said. 

Garnett  bore  the  flag  onward. 

Over  the  stone  wall  and  up  the  hill  they  fol 
lowed  the  sword  that  flashed  a  silver  path  for 
them  till  they  stood  upon  the  flaming  crest. 
The  first  line  of  defenders  fell  back  and  Gar 
nett  waved  his  battle-flag  over  the  gun  beside 
which  stood  the  man  whose  sword-flash  had 
lit  the  way.  In  a  seething  heart  of  fire  he  saw 
the  leader  fall. 

Forced  back  by  the  rally  of  the  men  on  the 
height,  the  little  remnant  of  survivors  reeled 
down  the  hill,  Jasper  and  Garnett  together,  a 
storm  of  bullets  following  them  as  they  went. 
Half-way  down  the  slope  Jasper  fell  back  and 
Garnett  caught  him  in  his  arms.  "Jasper, 
are  you  hurt,  old  fellow?" 

Jasper  made  no  answer  and  Garnett  carried 
him  on,  a  mortal  faintness  seizing  him  sud 
denly,  but  he  heeded  it  not,  for  above  the  roar 
of  the  guns,  the  cries  of  the  wounded,  the  tramp 
of  men  and  horses  he  heard  a  soft  voice  saying: 

"Take  care  of  him  for  me,  —  take  care  of 
him  for  me!" 


THE     BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

He  laid  his  comrade  upon  the  ground  and 
poured  down  his  throat  a  drink  from  his  can 
teen. 

"He  is  not  dead.  He  will  not  die;  cannot, 
for  he  has  love  to  live  for  and  it  will  take  him 
safely  back  to  her." 

As  he  sank  upon  the  ground  he  heard  the 
sound  of  hobbling  feet  and  the  face  of  Eagle- 
heart  was  thrust  into  his  own. 

"Eagleheart,  old  fellow,  did  you  come  to  tell 
me  goodbye?  I  know  you  carried  your  rider 
valiantly  into  the  battle  till  he  fell  from  your 
back.  He  could  not  have  gone  on  without 
you,  for  he  was  too  ill  to  ride  any  other.  Oh, 
I  am  proud  of  you,  Eagleheart,  and  I  am  glad 
I  lent  you  to  the  brave  General  Garnett.  I 
wonder  if  he  knows  that  his  namesake  sol 
dier  follows  him  so  soon." 

The  pathetic  brown  eyes  of  Eagleheart  looked 
wistfully  into  his  with  insistent  appeal.  Then 
Garnett  saw  that  one  of  his  feet  was  shot  off  and, 
led  by  instinct,  he  had  hobbled  to  his  master. 

"Eagleheart,  I  love  you  and  will  do  what 
you  ask  of  me.  Goodbye,  old  fellow." 

He  drew  the  pistol  from  his  belt  and  took 
sure  aim.  A  long,  slow  quiver,  a  deep-drawn 
sigh,  and  Eagleheart  was  at  rest. 


"THE    BATTLE'S    VAN" 

Garnett  moved  nearer  to  Jasper  and  put  his 
arm  over  him.  He  was  too  weak  to  lift  him 
self  to  see  how  it  was  with  his  friend,  but  he 
felt  that  all  was  right. 

A  bugle-note  floated  over  the  field,  faint  as 
if  the  gentle  Muse  feared  to  enter  upon  the 
terrible  scene,  plaintive  as  if  the  woes  of  a 
universe  weighed  it  down. 

"Thank  God,  that  is  old  Pete;  he  will  find 
him  for  her,"  said  Garnett,  as  he  sank  into 
unconsciousness. 

"That  is  old  Pete,  bugling  the  dirge  in  the 
greatest  death-march  the  world  has  ever 
known,"  thought  the  leader  of  the  little  rem 
nant  falling  back  from  the  fire-crested  height, 
and  as  Pete  saw  the  General  he  involuntarily 
struck  the  triumphant  note  with  which  he  had 
always  greeted  him,  "See,  the  conquering  hero 
comes."  But  memory  brought  a  sorrowful 
strain  into  which  was  woven  the  tragedy  of  a 
glorious  and  futile  effort.  Listening,  he  who 
had  led  his  men  through  the  storm  saw  visions 
as  in  a  cloud,  the  aspiration  of  battle,  the 
thrill  of  the  charge.  His  heart  leaped  with 
the  impulse  of  victory,  sank  with  the  knowl 
edge  of  defeat. 

Then  the  bugle  tones  passed  on  and  soared 
[  129] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

above  the  clank  of  men  surging  back  from  a 
glorious  defeat  that  held  no  less  of  nobility 
than  would  have  shone  in  the  crown  of  vic 
tory.  It  caught  the  heartbreak  of  wounds 
and  death,  the  love  and  longing  of  passing 
souls,  the  agony  of  sadder  souls  that  must 
remain  on  earth  and  remember,  the  woe  and 
horror  of  that  field  of  destruction,  and  carried 
it  aloft,  mingled  with  the  flower-fragrance  of 
love's  farewell  and  the  dawn-glory  of  the 
morning  heights  of  eternal  life,  to  beat 
against  the  gates  of  that  city  where  Peace 
reigns  forever. 

It  came  softly  to  Garnett,  as  he  lay  touch 
ing  the  border-land  with  one  hand  while  the 
other  reached  longingly,  gropingly,  back  toward 
loved  ones  whom  he  was  leaving.  There  was  a 
familiar  tone  in  the  strain  as  if  it  were  wafted 
to  him  on  the  winds  of  long-gone  summers. 
It  did  not  come  to  him  with  the  terrors  of 
battle,  —  the  darkness  of  death.  He  was  far 
away  from  the  world's  wars.  To  him  it  bore 
the  fragrance  of  wood-flowers  that  grew  along 
the  paths  he  had  trod  in  boyhood.  It  was 
aglow  with  the  sunlight  that  bathed  a  hillside 
where  he  used  to  play.  He  saw  again  the 
long  grass  waving  in  the  wind.  A  song  came 
[130] 


"THE    BATTLE'S    VAN'3 

lilting  down  the  years  from  the  parted  red  lips 
of  a  hazel-eyed  girl  with  a  forest  of  song-birds 
in  her  throat. 

Over  toward  the  sunset  the  little  band  had 
swept  down  the  hill  beyond  his  sight  and 
hearing. 

"I  have  kept  my  faith,  Catherine.  I  send 
him  back  to  you  and  to  love,"  sighed  Gar- 
nett,  as  old  Pete's  notes,  bugling  for  his 
master,  brought  him  back  to  consciousness. 

He  lay  still  for  a  time,  his  lashes  sweeping 
down  upon  his  cheek,  and  then  as  his  soul 
took  its  flight  her  voice  came  to  him  on  the 
golden  thread  of  an  old  song.  A  smile  lit 
up  his  face,  he  opened  his  eyes  and  whispered: 

"I  knew  you  would  come,  sweetheart.  I 
feel  the  touch  of  your  hand  and  your  sweet 
eyes  are  lighting  the  way  for  me.  Goodbye, 
—  goodb-y-e,  K-a-t-e." 


[131] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  SHIELD  OF  FAITH 

LIKE  a  bit  of  wreckage  tossed  up  from  a 
stormy  sea,  Jasper  lay  by  the  roadside. 
Through  the  darkness  that  environed  him  he 
heard  a  last  fond  goodbye  spoken  by  a  loved 
voice  but  he  could  make  no  answer.  The 
sound  of  a  bugle  called  him  and  he  tried  to 
struggle  back  to  light  but  sank  again  into 
shadows. 

Old  Pete,  anxious  ever  for  the  fate  of  the 
young  master  whom  destiny  had  confided  to 
him,  found  him  after  much  bugling  and  pray 
ing  and  a  perilous  search. 

"Praise  de  Lawd!  Ez  soon  ez  I  buckled  on 
de  shield  er  faith  I  knowed  Yd  find  you,  daid 
er  alibe,  Marse  Jasper,  en  'fo'  Gord  you  ain' 
needer  de  one  ner  needer  de  yudder,  en  ef  yer 
ain'  you  en  Marse  Garnett  layin'  yer  tergedder 
side  by  side  wid  one  anudder.  I  mought  a 
knowed  I'd  foun'  you  dat  away,  dough,  fer 
dar  neber  wuz  no  great  distance  'twix'  you 


A    SHIELD    OF    FAITH 

bofe.  Lubly  in  life,  in  def  you  ain'  Vided. 
Scuse  me,  Marse  Jasper,  I  gwine  feel  yer  heart. 
Tank  Gawd!  Tank  Gawd!  It's  a  beatin' 
en  good  en  strong.  Yo'  life  is  spyared  — 
spyared!" 

He  turned  to  Garnett,  whose  arm  was  over 
Jasper's  shoulder. 

"Praise  be  ter  de  Lamb,  you  ain'  daid, 
needer,  Marse  Garnett.  S'pec'  you's  jes'  got 
peppered  up  a  li'le,  too,  wid  dem  bullets.  Well, 
I  ain'  neber  seed  no  Marser  er  mine  so  bad 
off  dat  I  couldn'  fotch  'im  to  wid  a  li'le  man- 
agin'.  I  habs  ter  ax  you  to  scuse  me,  too, 
Marse  Garnett,  but  I  'bleeged  ter  tek  yo'  arm 
offn  Marse  Jasper,  so  he  kin  breave  better, 
en  you  kin,  too.  Name  er  gracious!  What's 
dis?  Lawd!  Lawd!  What's  de  matter  wid 
my  ole  eyes?  Marse  Garnett!  Marse  Gar 
nett!  Marse  Garnett!  Is  you  daid,  Marse 
Garnett?  —  daid  en  smilin'  at  me  lak  dat? 
Well,  I  neber  would  a  thunk  you  could  be  daid 
en  smile  lak  dat,  Marse  Garnett.  You  neber 
done  dat  away  befo';  neber  sence  I  knowed 
you;  en  'tain'  lak  you,  Marse  Garnett,  ter 
go  and  leabe  Marse  Jasper  by  hisse'f.  Fer- 
gib  me,  please,  suh,  fergib  yo'  ole  Pete  fer  what 
he's  gwine  ter  do,  but  he's  'bleeged  ter  part 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

you  en  Marse  Jasper  now  sho'  'nough,  en  hit 
suttinly  do  hu't  him  th'oo  en  th'oo  Pum  his 
gizzard  ter  his  lights  ter  do  it,  but  ef  Marse 
Jasper  comes  to  en  sees  you  lak  dis,  den  ole 
Pete  gwine  hab  double  trouble  ter  kyar  back 
ter  de  home  folks.  Yas,  dar'll  be  a  pyar  er 
daid  ones  ter  moan  ober." 

So  saying,  Pete,  after  listening  again  at 
Garnett's  heart,  lifted  him  tenderly  and  car 
ried  him  away,  laying  him  down  gently  and 
taking  a  mournful  leave  of  him. 

"You  sho'ly  wuz  a  gemman,  Marse  Garnett, 
—  a  gemman  ter  de  backbone  ef  eber  dar  wuz 
one.  You  allers  had  a  ninepence  raidy  in 
peace  time  en  a  shinplaster  or  a  nice  crackly 
Confederick  note  in  war  time  fer  de  ole  man. 
Well,  you're  safe  now,  Marse  Garnett,  safe  in 
de  bosom  er  good  ole  Marse  Aberham,  whar 
bullets  en  bayonets  cyan'  tetch  you  no  mo'  en 
whar  mebbe  you  mought  git  sumpn  decent  fer 
ter  eat.  I  gwine  gib  Miss  Kate  a  message  fer 
you.  Ole  Pete  know  heap  mo'  dan  you  t'ink 
he  know.  You  cyan '  fool  ole  Pete.  He  knows 
dat  smile  on  yo'  face  wuz  fer  Miss  Kate.  Ole 
Pete's  heart  is  mos'  bruk  ter  leabe  you  lak  dis, 
Marse  Garnett,  fer  you  is  mos'  lak  his  own 
young  Marser,  but  he  'bleeged  ter  do  it  fer 


A    SHIELD    OF    FAITH 

Marse  Jasper  mought  come  to  any  minute 
en  I  cyan'  do  you  no  good  now.  Goodbye, 
Marse  Garnett,  goodbye." 

With  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks  the  faith 
ful  servant  returned  to  Jasper. 

"I  knows  I  kin  fetch  Marse  Jasper  back 
fum  de  grabe  ef  I  bugles  fer  him.  I  gwine  try 
de  reveille  now:  dat's  de  chune  dat  weks  him 
mawnin's.  Yas,  dat's  allus  weked  him  fum  de 
soundes'  sleep  dat  a  soger  knows;  dat  sleep 
dat  he  has  w'en  he's  marched  all  day  en  half 
de  night  befo'." 

No  answering  look  of  consciousness  came  to 
the  still  face  in  response  to  the  stirring  notes 
that  had  so  often  aroused  the  young  soldier 
to  the  duties  of  the  day. 

"What!  Dat  don' wek  you?  Well,  I  gwine 
buckle  on  my  faith  en  try  sumpn  dat  will;  dat 
chune  Miss  Kate  totch  me  ter  bugle;  dat  'ud 
fotch  you  back  ef  you  wuz  daid  en  buried. 
No,  suh,  Marse  Jasper,  you  won'  lay  still  w'en 
dem  notes  is  a  floatin'  'roun'  you.  Ah,  hong! 
-What  I  say?  Gawd  bress  Miss  Kate  fer 
teachin'  me  dat  song!  —  Gawd  be  praised  dat 
I  hilt  on  ter  de  faith!" 

Whether  the  magic  of  his  sweetheart's  bugle- 
song  had  the  power  ascribed  to  it  or  not,  the 
[135] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

young  Colonel  opened  his  eyes  before  it  was 
finished. 

"Is  it  time  to  get  up,  Pete?" 

"Nor,  suh;  'tain'  time  yit,  Marse  Jasper. 
Den  ag'in,  you  mus'  er  hu't  yerse'f  somehow 
er  udder  so  you  better  lay  still  twel  I  kin  git 
somebody  ter  he'p  me  cyar  you  'way  fum  yer." 

"Oh,  I  remember  now,  —  the  battle.  We 
won,  didn't  we  ?  The  battle,  Pete  —  the 
battle  —  is  not  lost!" 

"You  suttinly  is  got  a  good  reckerlection. 
I  ain'  'memberin'  nuttin'  'tall  'bout  losin'  no 
battles,"  said  Pete  gruffly,  to  hide  his  feeling. 
"I's  t'inkin'  'bout  you,  Marse  Jasper,  en  how 
I  kin  get  you  'way  fum  yer  fo'  dem  Yankees 
teks  you  pris'ner." 

"Where  is  Lieutenant  Phillips?  I  thought 
I  heard  him  call  your  Miss  Catherine's  name. 
Was  I  dreaming  or  was  it  his  spirit.  He  is 
not  dead,  Pete,  is  he?" 

"Who?  Marse  Garnett  daid?  Lor,  nor, 
suh!  Marse  Garnett  ain'  so  easy  ter  git  kilt. 
Hi s  gone  'long  down  de  road  wid  de  y udders  " 

Pete  laughed  to  carry  out  the  deceit,  but 
turned  his  head  away. 

"Fus'  time,  I  s'pec',  dat  I  eber  tole  a  lie  in 
my  life,  but  dar's  some  lies  dat  de  good  Lawd 


A    SHIELD    OF    FAITH 

don'  write  'g'inst  yo'  name  ner  strek  you  daid 
fer,  needer,  I  reckon,  lak  He  did  Marse  Ana 
nias,  en  dis  is  one  er'  'em,"  he  said  to  himself. 

"I  was  sure,  Pete,  that  your  Marse  Garnett 
was  beside  me  when  I  heard  your  bugle." 

"You  cyan'  be  sho'  er  nuttin'  in  dis  worl', 
Marse  Jasper.  'Scuse  me  now;  I's  gwine  git 
a  man  up  in  de  woods  dar  ter  he'p  me  cyar 
you  back  fo'  dese  yer  Yanks  kotches  you  en 
me  bofe  en  puts  us  in  prison  en  we  ain'  got  no 
time  to  be  projeckin.'  I  knows  whar  de  man  is 
en  I's  gwine  fer  'im;  he  wuz  driv  outn  his  house 
by  de  firm'.  He  ain'  no  Yankee.  He's  what 
dey  call  a  copperas  haid." 

Pete  was  soon  back  with  his  assistant. 
Carefully  as  they  lifted  Jasper,  he  sank  again 
into  merciful  unconsciousness  and  knew  not 
when  he  was  taken  across  the  death-red  valley. 

When  they  reached  the  hill  on  the  other  side 
of  the  field  consciousness  came  back  to  Jas 
per,  and  with  it  a  twinge  of  pain  which  brought 
a  groan  from  the  lips  that  were  set  with  grim 
fierceness  in  the  effort  to  suppress  all  sign  of 
suffering. 

"Easy,  boys,  easy,"  said  a  low,  deep  voice 
in  a  tone  so  gentle  that  the  sound  of  it  soothed 
away  a  part  of  the  misery  of  the  undressed 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

wound  stiffening  in  the  burning  heat  of  the 
path  that  skirted  the  battlefield.  "Carry  him 
gently  for  his  pain  and  for  the  memory  of  the 
brave  fellows  we  leave  behind  us." 

Jasper  lifted  his  heavy  eyelids  slowly  and 
looked  up  to  see  what  wondrous  face  might 
belong  with  this  voice  that  was  like  a  strain  of 
half-forgotten  music  drifting  around  him  in  a 
dream  which  was  otherwise  only  darkness  and 
fear.  There  was  a  familiar  note  in  the  voice 
as  if  it  might  have  fallen  upon  his  ear  often  in 
the  past  when  life  was  full  in  his  veins  and 
meant  so  much  more  than  it  could  ever  mean 
again. 

The  pain-worn  face  was  so  filled  with  tender 
ness  that  it  brought  tears  to  his  eyes  only  to 
look  at  it, —  tears  that  took  away  half  his  suf 
fering  in  their  flow  but  filled  his  heart  with  a 
deeper,  wider  pain,  —  a  sense  of  loss  that 
seemed  world-wide. 

The  face  into  which  Jasper  looked  was  the 
same  he  had  seen  when  the  morning  light 
made  a  dim  radiance  under  the  canopy  of  the 
trees  brilliant  with  the  greenery  of  summer,  - 
the  face  at  sight  of  which  the  men  who  dared 
not  lift  their  voices  in  the  ringing  cheers  that 
welled  up  in  their  hearts  had  raised  their 


A    SHIELD    OF    FAITH 

caps  and  bowed  their  heads  in  reverence 
and  love, — the  same  face,  yet  not  the  same, 
for  the  battle  ardor  had  died  out  and 
left  it  pale  with  the  sorrow  of  a  great 
loss,  —  perhaps  the  greatest  loss  that  had 
ever  come  to  a  man  since  the  first  battle  for 
supremacy  was  fought  in  a  wildly  ambitious 
world.  For  over  each  dead  form  that  lay  on 
that  blood-crimsoned  field  his  heart  mourned 
as  a  father-heart  mourns  over  the  grave  of  a 
son.  The  tiger-eyes  that  had  flamed  with  the 
fire  of  the  coming  conflict  were  softened  in  a 
gray  tender  light  sadder  than  tears. 

"Courage,  my  lad;  we  shall  soon  be  among 
friends  whose  hearts  and  hands  will  bring  you 
comfort." 

The  leader  of  the  few  who  had  in  so  short 
a  time  traveled  the  road  to  immortality  and 
returned  to  earthly  living  looked  back  along 
the  way. 

"Far  better  for  us,"  he  said,  stretching  out 
his  arms  toward  the  long  windrows  left  by  the 
reaper  Death,  "had  we  stayed  with  them. 
But  if  7  can  cross  that  valley  and  live,  cannot 
you?" 

Thus  the  brave,  tender-hearted  General 
Pickett  after  the  battle  stood  beside  one  of 
[i39l 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

his  "boys"  as  the  sun  sank  behind  the  hills 
to  rise  again  in  golden  glory  when  the  night 
should  pass. 

The  sun  that  had  gilded  the  Flag  of  the 
Southern  Cross  had  set  to  rise  no  more  for 
ever. 


[140] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HOW  THE  NEWS  CAME  HOME 

/CATHERINE  stood  in  the  oak-paneled 
^>A  dining-hall  and  looked  from  the  open 
window  across  to  the  servants'  quarters.  In 
the  center  of  the  wide  space  in  front  a  dusky 
group  had  gathered.  The  night  was  murky 
and  the  scene  was  lit  by  pine-knot  torches 
held  in  the  hands  of  some  half-grown  youths 
whose  faces,  upturned  to  the  flaring  light, 
seemed  to  catch  a  demoniac  glow  that  wavered 
and  changed  with  the  flickering  glare.  As  the 
company  moved  about  in  the  red  light  one 
might  have  fancied  that  a  group  from  subter 
ranean  regions  had  met  for  spectral  revelry. 

Kate  was  thinking  only  how  good  and  faith 
ful  they  had  been,  —  these  black  people  of 
Magnolia  Lawn.  Politically  they  had  been 
free  for  half  a  year.  Practically  they  had 
been  free  much  longer  than  that,  for  had  they 
wished  to  leave  the  old  plantation  there  had 
been  nothing  to  prevent.  It  was  their  home 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

and  they  loved  it.  What  more  could  the  wil 
derness  of  freedom  offer  them?  Many  of  the 
neighboring  servants  had  chosen  the  uncer 
tainties  of  that  great  unknown  country  rather 
than  the  safety  of  the  tried  and  known.  She 
did  not  think  it  strange  that  they  had  done 
so.  Though  the  offered  gift  bear  nothing  of 
freedom  but  its  name,  it  yet  holds  out  to  the 
imagination  such  brilliant  possibilities  that 
only  a  great  love  can  outshine  it  in  glory.  Such 
a  love  these  faithful  hearts  held  for  the  old 
home  and  its  inmates. 

There  was  a  barbaric  splendor  in  the  scene 
that  carried  Kate's  fancy  into  the  fantastic 
shadows  of  oriental  traditions. 

The  negroes  had  formed  a  semicircle  around 
the  illumined  space  and  the  light  flickering  over 
their  faces  gave  them  an  unearthly  expression 
of  awesome  enchantment. 

An  old  man  who  formed  the  keystone  of  the 
arch  began  to  sing  slowly  in  a  deep  melancholy 
tone  a  song  commemorative  of  the  manifold 
virtues  and  sorrowful  fate  of  one  "Poor  Uncle 
Ned,"  who  had  lived  a  long  time  ago  and  had 
gone  to  a  rest  well  earned  by  a  protracted  life 
of  good  deeds  and  self-sacrifice.  He  had  ap 
parently  been  forced  to  relinquish  most  of  the 
[142] 


HOW    NEWS    CAME    HOME 

attractions   which   earthly   existence   offers    to 
the  average  human  being. 

His  fingers  wuz  long  lak  de  cane  in  de  brake 
En  he  had  no  eyes  fer  ter  see; 
En  he  had  no  teefs  fet  ter  eat  de  corn-cake, 
So  he  had  ter  let  de  corn-cake  be. 

All  joined  in  the  chorus,  which  welled  up  in 
a  heavy  surge  of  woe: 

Den  hang  up  de  fiddle  en  de  bow-o-o-o, 
Lay  down  de  shubble  en  de  hoe-o-o-o; 
Fer  dar's  no  moj  wu'k  fer  po'  ole  Ned, 
He's  gone  whar  de  good  niggers  go." 

As  the  first  note  of  the  chorus  swelled  out  in 
a  volume  of  sad  melody  a  girl  glided  into  the 
center  of  the  circle  and  began  a  slow,  weird, 
mystic  dance,  swaying  backward  and  forward 
and  from  side  to  side,  keeping  time  with  her 
sinuous  movements  to  the  rise  and  fall  of  the 
dirge.  To  them  the  life  and  death  of  the  good 
old  black  man  of  whom  they  sang  who  had 
"died  long  ago,  long  ago"  and  who  "had  no 
wool  on  de  top  er  his  haid  in  de  place  whar  de 
wool  ought  ter  grow,"  were  as  real  and  as  new 
as  were  the  scenes  of  their  every-day  life. 

When  the  funeral  ode  was  ended  the  same 
deep  rich  voices  rang  out  in  a  merry  song  with 
[143] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

a  chorus  of  laughter  after  each  stanza.  A 
half-grown  boy  ran  into  the  circle  and  began  a 
clog-dance  to  the  gay  notes  of  the  banjo  and 
the  clank  of  the  bones,  followed  by  another  and 
yet  another,  all  joining  in  heartily  with  the 
laughing  chorus  to  which  their  twinkling  feet 
kept  time. 

"What  children  they  are,"  thought  Kate,  as 
she  joined  in  the  laugh.  "They  weep  over  imag 
inary  sorrows  and  laugh  over  fancied  joys  with 
out  a  thought  of  the  realities  of  life.  Ah,  here 
comes  Uncle  Zeke.  Why  are  you  not  having 
fun  down  at  the  cabins  with  the  others  ?  Dear 
me,  what  has  happened  to  please  you  so?" 

"Happened!  Miss  Kate,  why  sumpn's  hap 
pened  ter  mek  yo'  Ung  Zeke  want  ter  do  mo* 
dan  dance.  He  wants  ter  shout  lak  he'd  jes' 
got  'ligion  fer  de  fus'  time." 

"What  is  it,  Uncle  Zeke?     Do  tell  me." 

"Well,  Miss  Kate,  Marse  Carey's  jes'  come 
fum  Richmon'  en  brung  de  news  dat  'way  up 
dar  at  de  Norf  what  Marse  Gen'l  Lee's  been  a 
foughtin',  dat  we-all's  whopped  dem  Yankees 
en  dat  we-all's  army's  marchin'  ter  Wash'ton 
en  dat  we-all  'ill  be  dar  termorrer  er  de  naix' 
day  sho'.  Oh,  de  Jubilee  am  a  comin',  Miss 
Kate,  it  am  a  comin'!" 


HOW    NEWS    CAME    HOME 

"Are  you  sure,  Uncle  Zeke?"  she  cried,  her 
cheeks  aglow  and  her  eyes  dancing. 

"Sho'  en  sartin!  Miss  Kate,  sho',  fer  Marse 
Carey  jes'  dis  minute  got  back  fum  Richmon' 
whar  dey  knows  ebbyt'ing,  en  dat's  what  dey 
tole  him.  De  news  come  dar  yis'day  en  has 
jes'  got  'roun'  to  us." 

Victory!  For  one  instant  Kate's  heart  stood 
still  as  if  it  would  never  beat  again.  The 
world  was  dark  before  her  and  she  heard 
strange  sounds  far  off  on  an  unknown  shore. 
Something  seemed  to  grasp  at  her  throat  and 
she  could  not  breathe.  Intense  joy  had  brought 
a  helpless  pain  like  that  which  comes  with 
intense  grief.  Then  light  came  back.  Tears 
filled  her  eyes,  —  the  tears  that  lie  alike  at  the 
heart  of  a  great  happiness  and  a  great  sorrow. 
Her  cheeks,  which  had  gone  suddenly  pale 
with  the  shock  of  joy,  blossomed  out  redder 
than  the  roses  that  bloomed  in  Omar's  garden. 
The  triumph  in  her  heart  flamed  into  her  eyes 
and  dried  away  the  tears. 

Her  first  thought  was  of  Jasper.  The  war 
was  ended  and  he  would  soon  come  home,  — 
come  home  to  her!  The  long  terror  of  battle 
was  over  and  sweet  peace  had  come  at  last. 
For  what  could  there  be  more  to  do  than  to  go 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

to  Washington  and  offer  to  withdraw  the  army 
from  Northern  soil  on  condition  that  the  South 
should  own  herself  and  live  her  own  life? 
What  a  magnificent,  glorious  life  it  would  be 
with  their  wide  fertile  lands,  their  beautiful 
homes,  the  power  to  make  their  own  laws 
adapted  to  their  own  needs. 

But  what  were  laws  and  national  interests 
to  Kate?  Jasper  was  coming  home.  What 
wider  meaning  than  that  had  peace  for  her? 

And  Garnett,  —  yes,  he  would  come,  too. 
In  the  first  rush  of  joy  she  had  not  thought  of 
him.  She  would  be  glad  to  see  him,  though. 
He  was  a  dear  fellow  and  had  been  good  to 
Jasper.  That  either  would  not  come  had  never 
dawned  upon  her  thought.  Lovers  and  cousins 
and  fathers  and  brothers  had  been  left  on  the 
field,  and  sweethearts  and  cousins  and  sisters 
and  daughters  had  walked  black-robed  in  the 
sun,  and  the  darkness  of  their  sorrow  had 
dimmed  the  light  of  day  for  her.  That  she 
should  suffer  like  loss  had  never  come  within 
the  range  of  her  imaginings.  The  field-glass 
of  youth  sees  no  cloud  on  the  horizon  of  the 
future  even  when  the  eyes  of  youth  are  forced 
to  recognize  a  present  darkness. 

In  the  exuberance  of  his  feeling  Uncle  Zeke 
[146] 


HOW    NEWS    CAME    HOME 

executed  a  pigeon-wing  with  a  lightsomeness 
not  to  be  surpassed  by  the  gayest  youth  in 
the  quarters. 

"Bravo,  Uncle  Zeke!  Bravo!  But  why  are 
you  celebrating  a  victory  for  the  South?  The 
North  is  fighting  your  battle.  The  Northern 
President  has  set  you  free." 

"Ef  he  did  I  didn'  neber  go,  did  I?" 

"No;  but  if  General  Lee's  army  goes  to 
Washington  it  might  happen  that  you  would 
lose  your  opportunity  to  go.  I  suppose  the 
yoke  is  heavy  in  proportion  to  the  remoteness 
of  the  possibility  of  shaking  it  off." 

"I  don'  know  nuttin'  'tall  'bout  no  'mote- 
ness,  but  dar  wan't  neber  no  heaby  yoke 
'roun'  my  naik,  Miss  Kate.  I  cyan'  say  how 
'tis  wid  ole  Marser.  I  reckon  he's  had  de 
yoke  'roun'  his  naik  all  his  natchul  born  life 
but  he  don'  neber  say  much,  dough  I  did  hyer 
him  say  oncet  dat  ef  we-all  didn'  run  away 
moughty  soon  he'd  jes  hab  ter  do  it.  But  eben 
he  neber  done  it.  He  wuz  jes'  projickin'  wid 
we-alls  en  skeerin'  us  kaze  he  wuz  mad  'bout 
Dick  lettin'  de  ca'ige  run  'way  wid  de  hosses; 
den  ole  Jake  tuck  de  feber  en  Jim  en  Pete  fit  a 
fought  'bout  Jemima  Ann,  en  all  dat  meked  ole 
Marse  kinder  discouraged,  I  reckon,  en  so  he 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

up  en  th'eatened  we-all.  But,  lor,  Miss  Kate, 
I  am'  skeert  ole  Marser  gwineter  run  'way  en 
leabe  we-all  en  one  t'ing  sho',  we-all  am'  neber 
gwineter  run  'way  en  leabe  him,  en  we  don'  want 
him  eber  ter  'suit  us  a  gibin'  us  no  'mansu- 
mashum  papers,  needer,  fer  we-all  cyan'  do 
'dout  one  anudder." 

Kate  looked  over  to  where  the  clog  dancer  was 
keeping  vigorous  time  to  the  orchestra  of  banjo, 
bones,  clapping  hands,  and  musical  voices. 
"Have  you  told  them  about  the  great  news?" 
"Nor'm.  Whut's  de  use?  Dem  niggers  is 
happy  ez  long  ez  dey's  dancin'  en  a  singin'  en 
hit  don'  mek  no  diffunce  whut  dey's  dancin' 
'bout,  nuther.  Hit  mought  ez  well  be  'bout 
a  possum  en  a  sweet  'tater  ez  'bout  a  flag  en 
a  kentry  fer  all  dey'd  keer,  sepn  dey'd  t'ink  a 
possum  en  a  sweet  'tater  wuz  wuf  mo'  ter  fight 
'bout.  Dey'll  know  it  ez  soon  ez  ole  Marse 
comes,  anyhow.  He's  ober  at  Marse  Carey's 
en  hyeard  it  'fo'  I  hyeard  it.  En  lis'n  —  lis'n 
—  lis'n,  Miss  Kate!  Lis'n  ter  dat  bell!  Don' 
you  hyer  it  sayin',  *  Vic  'try !  Vic' try !  Vic'try ! 
De  Souf's  free!  De  Souf's  free!'  Did  you 
eber  hyer  any  shoutin'  soun'  sweeter,  er  singin', 
eeder,  ez  ter  dat,  dan  de  music  dem  bells  is  a 
ringin'  out  ter  tell  us  dat  de  Lawd  en  His 
[148] 


HOW    NEWS    CAME    HOME 

angels  is  done  en  perwailed  en  dat  de  SouPs 
a  free  eberlastin'  libin'  glory  ter  de  name  er 
de  Lawd  or  Gawd  fereber  mo'!" 

The  old  man  lifted  his  clasped  hands  and 
looked  upward  with  an  expression  of  beatific 
happiness  illuminating  his  face. 

At  that  moment  Kate  saw  a  sable  youth 
leap  the  fence  and  run  toward  the  quarters, 
shouting  some  message  the  words  of  which  she 
could  not  distinguish. 

Each  reveler  paused  instantly  in  the  atti 
tude  in  which  he  chanced  to  be.  The  clog 
dancer  stood  on  one  foot,  the  other  held  in  air 
as  if  executing  the  next  step.  Kate  observed 
how  graceful  his  lithe  figure  was  in  that  pose. 
Old  Caesar's  bow  was  lifted  in  preparation  for 
beginning  a  spirited  and  dashing  strain.  The 
bones  held  by  Thomas  Jefferson  Monroe  re 
mained  crossed  at  the  exact  musical  angle. 
George  Washington  Bonaparte's  hand  was 
arrested  on  its  downward  flight  toward  the 
last  note  of  "Juba  dis  en  Juba  dat,  en  Juba 
'roun'  de  kittle  er  fat."  Kate  thought  of  the 
city  that  fell  mute  when  the  Sleeping  Beauty 
sank  into  her  long  slumber. 

The  reaction  came.  Every  figure  bounded 
into  activity.  The  music  rang  out  with  a 
[H9] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

wild  note  of  triumph  that  filled  the  night.  The 
bones  rattled  out  their  victorious  message  as 
if  the  joyful  news  had  brought  life  again  to 
them  and  clothed  them  with  sentient  flesh  and 
given  them  a  heart  to  thrill  with  triumph. 
The  clapping  of  hands  resounded  uproariously. 
A  chorus  of  voices  rolled  out  in  a  jubilee  and 
the  wave  of  melody  widened  out  over  a  sea 
that  had  no  shore. 

"Dey  sho'  is  got  dar  Ferginia  blood  het  up," 
said  Zeke  with  admiration.  "Pear  lak  w'edder 
dey's  fiel'  hands  er  bodyguards  dese  niggers  is 
all  got  heart  feelin's  fer  we-all's  cause." 

Through  the  wild  uproar  of  the  plantation 
surged  the  solemn,  proud,  triumphant  yet 
almost  melancholy  refrain  of  the  bells,  "The 
South  is  free!  The  South  is  free!" 

Thus  the  news  came  home.  Far-ofF  nations 
learned  the  fateful  decision  of  that  great  con 
flict  before  accurate  tidings  of  it  could  perco 
late  through  the  stone  wall  which  war  had 
built  around  the  South.  Rumor  was  opti 
mistic,  and  the  hope  of  a  great  victory  swelled 
under  her  cheerful  ministrations.  For  a  little 
moment,  the  South  felt  the  bliss  of  triumph. 

Then  darkness  fell. 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE  RETURN  TO  BRIGHTVIEW 


de  Lawd!  We's  gittin'  to'a'ds 
home,  Marse  Jasper.  Yas,  suh,  we's 
jis'  sightin'  de  ole  Slocum  place  now.  Praise 
de  Lawd!  We's  mos'  dar  at  las'." 

Jasper  Carrington  lay  half  asleep  on  an  army 
cot  in  the  old  covered  wagon  in  which  his 
faithful  servant  was  taking  his  wounded  mas 
ter  home.  The  negro,  waving  a  fan  gently  to 
and  fro  over  the  white  face,  glanced  at  Jas 
per's  cap  under  the  driver's  seat.  It  had 
served  as  a  fan  until  a  thoughtful  woman  at 
the  last  stopping  place  had  given  them  the 
palm-leaf.  The  gray  cloth  was  faded  and 
dusty,  the  gold  cord  tarnished  and  frayed. 
He  took  it  up  and  turned  it  over.  In  the 
crown  was  a  strip  of  white  silk,  discolored  now, 
on  which  was  embroidered  the  owner's  name. 
The  old  man  could  not  read,  but  he  knew  the 
meaning  of  the  mysterious  characters  and  that 
they  were  the  work  of  Kate's  dainty  fingers. 
[151] 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

Colonel  Carrington  moved  restlessly. 

"Have  we  passed  the  road  to  Magnolia 
Lawn  yet,  Pete?" 

"No,  suh;  but  we's  comin'  to  it;  we's 
jamby  dar." 

The  old  man  looked  wistfully  at  his  master. 

"Pear  lak  ter  me,  Marse  Jasper,  dat  when 

we  does  come  ter  it  we'd  better  turn  in  dar. 

Miss  Kate  ain'  neber  gwine  fergib  we-alls  ef 

we  don'  stop  en  pay  'em  a  visit." 

"Yes,  but  I  can't  stop  like  this,  Pete;  no, 
not  like  this.  You  do  as  I  tell  you  and  go 
on  to  Brightview."  The  voice,  though  weary, 
had  an  unmistakable  element  of  firmness. 
"And,  remember,  Pete,  if  we  meet  any  one  on 
the  road,  not  one  word,  and  don't  you  even 
dare  show  your  black  face.  We  are  just  a 
team  passing  through  the  country,  that's  all. 
You  understand?" 

"Yas,  Marse  Jasper.     I  understand. " 

"And  you  promise  me,  Pete?" 

The  old  man  groaned  inwardly. 

"Yas,  suh;  I  promises  you  all  ret.  De  Lawd 
ha'  mussy!" 

Every  foot  of  the  way  was  familiar  to  Uncle 
Pete.  He  peered  eagerly  ahead  past  the 
driver's  portly  figure  and  saw  two  or  three 


RETURN    TO    BRIGHTVIEW 

children  in  the  bushes  by  the  roadside.  Only 
members  of  the  household  of  Magnolia  Lawn 
would  be  gathering  berries  on  that  stretch  of 
road,  miles  away  from  any  other  habitation. 
His  old  heart  gave  a  jump  and  with  difficulty 
he  suppressed  a  cry.  It  was  a  chance  —  a 
slim  chance  —  but  the  only  one,  and  he  would 
take  it. 

He  ceased  fanning  and  closely  watched  the 
sleeper,  who  did  not  stir.  As  the  wagon  neared 
the  children  Pete  crept  cautiously  forward 
and  picked  up  the  gray  cap.  Then  he  took 
the  large  white  handkerchief  with  which  he 
had  been  wiping  away  the  drops  that  occa 
sionally  broke  out  on  the  young  man's  face, 
threw  it  over  his  head  and  leaned  across  the 
seat. 

The  children  stood  up,  dumb,  stolid,  to 
watch  the  wagon  go  by.  They  did  not  move 
even  when  a  man's  cap,  hurled  by  a  long  arm 
from  the  front  of  the  cart,  fell  at  the  feet  of 
the  largest  boy.  A  few  moments  later  Pete, 
whose  face  was  still  masked,  watching  them 
from  the  rear  of  the  cart,  saw  them  pick  up 
the  cap,  examine  it  with  great  excitement  and 
shrill  little  cries,  and  then  set  off  with  it  at 
full  speed  up  the  lane  to  Magnolia  Lawn. 


THE    BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

There  remained  still  a  weary  three  hours' 
drive.  Colonel  Carrington  slept  fitfully  and 
as  they  neared  Brightview  restlessly  insisted 
on  sitting  up. 

"We  are  almost  there,  Pete.  Another  turn; 
—  there,  driver,  go  in  at  this  first  gate." 

"Lawd  ha'  mussy,  look!  Is  dat  we-all's 
home?  Is  dat  Brightview?  Dat  cyan't  be 
we-all's  home,  sho';  bu'nt  up  lak  dat!" 

Pete's  bent  frame  straightened  up  and  over 
his  face  spread  a  peculiar  pallor.  His  mas 
ter,  too,  went  even  whiter  than  before. 
Neither  spoke  as  the  wagon  bumped  heavily 
over  the  ill-kept  road. 

Beyond  the  burned  trees  stood  the  black 
ened  frame,  the  charred  timbers  of  the  old 
house  —  one  wing  only  standing,  the  remain 
ing  two-thirds  of  the  structure  leveled  almost 
to  the  ground. 

Colonel  Carrington  laid  a  hand  affectionately 
on  the  wrinkled  black  one  clinched  on  the 
side  of  the  cot. 

"It  is  still  home,  Pete,  as  long  as  there  is  a 
stone  left,  —  still  home." 

Pete  turned  pathetic  eyes  on  his  master's  face. 

"Ole  Mistis?  Miss  Ca'line?"  He  barely 
whispered  the  words. 


RETURN    TO    BRIGHTVIEW 

"I  hope  they  have  not  heard,"  was  the 
reply.  "When  I  left  they  went  to  my  cousin's 
in  Nansemond." 

"We-all  mus'  do  a  heap  er  mendin'  en  fixin' 
up  den  'fo'  dey  gits  back  ag'in.  Ole  Pete  allus 
wuz  good  at  carpent'in'  wuk.  I  hope  dem 
Yankees  leP  de  tools  in  de  tool  house."  Then 
after  a  pause,  "You  jes'  herry  up  en  git  well, 
Marse  Jasper,  en  you  en  de  ole  man  gwine 
hab  some  fun  projeckin'  'roun'  en  buildin'  de 
ole  place  up  ag'in  fer  somebody!" 

The  wing  that  remained  contained  but  three 
rooms  —  the  long,  low  sitting-room  of  hallowed 
memories,  and  two  small  chambers  above.  This 
part  had  been  saved  by  the  brave  efforts  of  the 
loyal  servants  who  had  risked  their  lives  to  put 
out  the  flames  when  the  destroyers  had  gone. 

Some  of  the  old  Brightview  servants  came 
out  with  faces  keen  with  curiosity  which  sud 
denly  changed  to  alarm  when  they  saw  their 
master  lying  helpless  on  the  cot,  then  to  delight 
when  he  called  their  names  in  a  cheerful  voice 
and  assured  them  that  he  was  not  much  hurt. 

Colonel  Carrington  was  carried  slowly  into 
the  sitting-room  and  the  cot  put  down  gently 
near  the  west  window  where  there  was  a  faint 
breeze  stirring.  Here  the  desolation,  the  trag- 

[155] 


THE    BUGLES     OF    GETTYSBURG 

edy,  seemed  more  awful  still.  Apparently 
the  vandal  sword  had  been  ruthlessly  swept  to 
right  and  left  in  an  attempt  to  destroy  what 
could  not  be  carried  away. 

The  old  cook  had  hurried  off  to  get  fresh 
milk  and  eggs  for  her  "Marser,"  joyous  in  the 
thought  of  having  one  of  her  "w'ite  folks" 
again  to  serve. 

Jasper  lay  and  looked  about  him,  an  occa 
sional  groan  escaping  his  lips.  Troops  of 
olden  memories  had  followed  him  through  the 
doorway  and  were  gathering  around  his  cot,  — 
memories  of  olden  home-comings  when  the 
old  house  stood  stately  and  fair  and  gave  him 
sweet  welcome  that  gladdened  his  heart.  He 
remembered  the  last  time  he  had  come  home, 
when  mother  and  sister  had  met  him  with 
loving  caresses  and  the  one  girl  in  all  the  world 
had  taken  a  wild  night  ride  to  warn  him  of 
danger. 

Old  Pete  bustled  about,  making  a  great  deal 
of  fuss  over  getting  things  comfortable,  for  it 
would  never  do  to  let  the  young  master  see 
that  he,  too,  could  have  laid  himself  down  and 
groaned  in  anguish  of  spirit. 

Presently,  after  he  had  been  given  some  hot 
milk,  he  called  out  wistfully: 


RETURN    TO    BRIGHTVIEW 

"I  thought  I  heard  horses,  Pete.  I  wish 
I  could  see  the  road  from  here.  Oh,  it  would 
be  so  good  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  some  of  the 
home  people,  wouldn't  it?" 

"I  ain'  hyeared  no  hosses  ner  nuthin',  Marse 
Jasper.  I  reckon  it's  de  team  gwine  back.  I 
spec',  too,  dat  fool  driver  is  skeert  er  be  bein* 
cotched  on  dese  onfamilous  roads  atter  dark. 
En  hit's  gwine  ter  be  dark,  too,  in  th'ee  er  fo' 
hours  fum  now." 

Suddenly  for  a  second  there  appeared  in 
the  doorway  a  girlish  figure  in  a  riding  habit. 
Finger  on  lip,  the  other  hand  beckoning,  the 
girl  receded  into  the  shadows.  Pete  nodded 
and  then  went  to  Jasper's  side.  The  young 
man  lay  looking  out  of  the  window. 

"You  lemme  raise  you  jes'  a  mite,  Marse 
Jasper,  ter  ease  you  while  I  rummage  'roun' 
ter  see  ef  dere's  anythin'  lef  in  de  house  ter 
mek  we-all  mo'  comf'ble.  Dis  yer  do's  got  ter 
be  kep'  shet  'count  er  de  win'.  You  gits  'nuf 
a'r  fum  all  dem  winders  'dout  habin'  de  do' 
wide  open,  too." 

He  went  out  and  drew  the  door  to  behind 
him. 

Kate  and  her  father  stood  on  the  veranda, 
the  girl  nervously  plaiting  into  folds  the  soft 


THE    BUGLES     OF     GETTYSBURG 

felt  hat  she  had  worn.  Uncle  Zeke  was  in  the 
shadows  beyond,  at  his  feet  a  big  basket  and  a 
bundle  of  bedding. 

"So  you  have  brought  your  young  master 
home,  Uncle  Pete.  I  hope  he  is  not  badly 
wounded/'  said  the  Colonel. 

"Is  he  much  hurt?  He  isn't  going  to  die, 
is  he,  Uncle  Pete?" 

"Lor,  no,  Honey.  Don'  you  werry  none, 
Miss  Kate.  Marse  Jasper  jes'  shot  in  de  laig 
wid  one  er  dem  big  bullets  en  peppered  up  some 
wid  de  li'le  ones,  dat's  all.  Ole  Pete  gwine  hab 
'im  walkin'  'roun'  en  dancin'  'fo'  de  een  er  de 
week." 

"  Really,  Uncle  Pete  ?  You  wouldn't  deceive 
me,  would  you?" 

"No'm;  hones'  ter  gracious,  Miss  Kate, 
dat  I  wouldn'.  Don'  you  s'pose  Ole  Pete'd 
be  skeert,  too,  ef  dar  wuz  anythin'  ter  be  skeert 
'bout?" 

"I  must  see  him  this  minute.  I  can't  wait. 
I  won't  startle  him." 

"No'm,  you  cyan'  startleize  Marse  Jasper, 
but  ef  I  tole  him  you  wuz  hyer  he'd  fergit  all 
'bout  dem  game  laigs  en  git  offn  dat  cot  'fo' 
ole  Pete  could  stop  him,  en  dat  wouldn'  neber 
do." 

[158] 


RETURN    TO    BRIGHTVIEW 

"Well,  you  go  in  and  keep  him  from  getting 
up  and  father  and  I  will  just  come  in  slowly 
and  let  him  see  us." 

The  old  man  turned  as  he  was  about  to  open 
the  door  and  said: 

"You  better  let  yo'  pa  stay  outside,  Honey, 
en  come  in  by  yo'se'f  firs'." 

Uncle  Pete  entered  the  sitting-room. 

"Did  you  find  anything,  Pete?  Oh,  I  wish 
I  could  get  up." 

"Did  I  find  anything?  Well,  you'll  see  in  a 
minute  what  I  found,  Marse  Jasper.  Jes' 
wait  en  you'll  see  what  I  foun'." 

The  old  man  chuckled  as  he  spread  over 
Jasper,  with  an  almost  womanly  touch,  a  lav 
ender-scented  sheet  from  a  chest  saved  by  the 
servants  from  the  flames.  Then  he  went 
around  to  the  other  side  of  the  cot  and  stood 
before  him,  shutting  out  the  view  of  the  door. 

uYou  don5  want  no  mo'  milk,  does  you, 
Marse  Jasper?" 

"No;  what's  that?  I  thought  I  heard  a 
footstep." 

The  sick  man  started;  Uncle  Pete  moved 
away. 

"Kate!  Kate!  My  darling;  —  my  darling, 
am  I  dreaming?" 


THE     BUGLES    OF     GETTYSBURG 

"No,  suh,  Marse  Jasper,  you  ain't  dreamin'; 
bress  yo'  heart.  Now  you  knows  whut  de  ole 
man  foun" 

Out  of  the  shadow  she  came  into  the 
golden  radiance  that  shone  from  the  west. 
Her  face  was  white  with  tense  emotion  and 
her  dark  eyes  were  aglow.  The  wondrous  pic 
ture  held  him  motionless  and  silent  as  the 
realization  of  her  presence  dawned  upon  him. 
She  came  into  the  sunset  glory  and  knelt  be 
side  the  cot.  His  arms  were  around  her  and 
his  lips  in  the  wind-blown  tangle  of  her  hair. 

Pete  tiptoed  out,  a  suspicious  moisture  in 
his  eyes. 

"  Kate,  my  sweetheart,  my  love !  How  did  you 
know?  How  did  you  come  here  ?  Little  girl,  little 
girl,  don't  cry  so.  I'm  all  right  —  all  right." 

The  wonder  of  it  all  rilled  his  heart  again  and 
he  said:  —  "How  did  you  know?" 

"One  of  the  boys  brought  me  a  cap  with  the 
very  strip  of  silk  on  which  I  had  embroidered 
your  name,  saying  that  it  had  been  thrown 
from  a  wagon  that  went  down  the  lane,  by  a 
negro  with  something  white  over  his  face.  He 
said  that  there  was  a  dead  soldier  lying  in  the 
wagon.  I  knew  that  Uncle  Pete  had  brought 
you  home  and  we  came  at  once." 
[160! 


RETURN    TO    BRIGHTVIEW 

"That  old  rascal,  Pete!"  said  Jasper,  with  a 
smile  of  content. 

Half  an  hour  later  Pete  tiptoed  back.  Kate 
sat  in  the  window,  her  eyes  shining.  Jasper 
held  her  hands  and  his  gaze  did  not  leave  her 
face. 

"You  must  tell  me  what  you  need,  Uncle 
Pete/'  said  Kate;  "everything  you  haven't 
got,  and  you  shall  have  it  the  first  thing  in 
the  morning.  Or  to-night,  if  need  be.  Uncle 
Zeke  and  I  must  be  going  in  a  few  minutes. 
Father  will  remain  with  Jasper,  dear  heart. 
I  shall  be  back  in  the  morning  and  bring  Doc 
tor  Gorham,  just  to  make  sure." 

"I  sont  fer  de  Doctor  de  firs'  t'ing,  en  Fs 
'spectin'  him  any  minute." 

"You  are  so  thoughtful,  Uncle  Pete,  and 
just  to  think  of  your  bringing  him  home  by 
yourself.  Where  is  my  Cousin  Garnett?  But 
I  suppose  he  couldn't  get  leave.  Your  master 
tells  me  you  saw  him  last  going  down  the 
road." 

"  Yas'm;  he  wuz  gwine  down  de  road.'9  Uncle 
Zeke's  throat  tightened.  "Dat's  how  I  seed 
him,  Honey.  Gwine  down  de  road  'long  wid  de 
judders  —  happy  lak  en  smilin';  smilin'  jes' 
lak  he  allus  done."  He  went  on  hastily  to 
[161] 


THE     BUGLES    OF    GETTYSBURG 

cover  the  confusion  of  his  mistake.  "De 
Gen'l  he  holp  me  a  heap  en  he  tol'  me  ter  fotch 
Marse  Jasper  'long  home  en  I  fotch  him. 
'Here's  de  money  fer  yo'  suspenses,  Pete/  he. 
say,  'ca'y  him  easy,  en  git  all  de  holp  you 
needs/" 

A  glow  of  love  and  reverence  lit  Jasper's 
eyes  as  he  said: 

"That  is  our  General's  loving  spirit,  always 
around  us  to  aid  and  bless.  You  can  never 
know  what  General  Pickett  has  been  to  me; 
-  a  strong  arm  to  support,  a  steady  hand  to 
guide,  a  wise  head  to  counsel,  a  gentle  heart 
to  sympathize  in  joy  and  sorrow.  An  inspira 
tion  on  march  and  field,  he  is  a  living  force  to 
give  his  men  the  power  to  endure  and  achieve. 
The  hottest  place  in  the  battle  is  where  he  is 
seen  leading  his  Division,  and  there  is  not  a 
man  of  us  who  would  not  proudly  follow  him 
to  death." 

Kate  pressed  his  hand,  silent  with  the  deep 
feeling  that  surged  through  her  heart.  Then 
she  turned  to  the  window. 

"I  must  go  now;    the  sun  has  set,"  she  said 
softly.     "But  not  for  us;    nor  for  the  South. 
For  all  of  us  a  grand,  a  glorious,  sunrise,  and  a 
perfect  day,  Jasper,  dear." 
[162] 


RETURN    TO    BRIGHTVIEW 

"Yes,  sweetheart  mine.  A  new  home,  a 
new  South,  but  the  old,  old  love." 

The  gray  dusk  closed  about  them.  Pete 
had  crept  away  into  the  shadows  and  through 
the  twilight  came  the  clear  sweet  sound  of 
Kate's  bugle-call. 


163 


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